


Lecter Twins Drabble Series

by nigellecter



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Hannibal, Alpha Nigel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BDSM, Berlin Weimar, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Coma, Crossdressing, Drowning, Drugs, Fluff, Gunshot Wounds, Hannibal Season 3 spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Memory Loss, Older Nigel, Omega Hannibal, Omega Nigel, Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Sibling Incest, Sickfic, Strangulation, Substance Abuse, Suicide, Trauma, Wax Play, mention of murder, younger Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 113
Words: 97,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nigellecter/pseuds/nigellecter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short drabbles posted on Tumblr. Unedited, errors are my own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Gone Wrong?

Getting up in the morning like usual, of course Hannibal was missing from his side. His brother was always an early riser and didn’t need many hours of sleep like Nigel did. It was still a bit early, but he could smell a delectable aroma making all the way to the bedroom and that had gotten his body immediately aroused. 

He didn’t exactly know what it was, but it smelled like some kind of soup. Tomato-based, perhaps minestrone. He always loved this hearty soup and a winter morning like this with the heavy snowfall upon them, it’d be a perfect meal. Draping the robe on and not even bothering to tie it around his waist, he smugly struts down the stairs with the still steamy mug that he was sure Hannibal had put on the nightstand. 

Blowing on the hot liquid and inhaling the deep aroma of the dark roast coffee that he loves, he briefly closes his eyes and saunters towards the kitchen. 

“Good mornin- What the fuck, Hannibal? What’s wrong?” 

Finding Hannibal literally on the floor with his face covered with two hands, tears streamed like a waterfall onto the hardwood floor with the soup ladle thrown over the table. 

“The soup tastes horrible. I don’t know what I did wrong.” 

Hannibal only manages to point to the big pot of soup that’s boiling away and simmering down. A heavy sigh fluttering out as he musses Hannibal’s hair, he grabs a spoon nearby the stove and tastes delicious looking soup. 

“Well, it looks more than all right - Why don’t I give it a taste?” 

He tastes and finds the soup on the sweeter side, but nevertheless still delicious. “Brohubs, this tastes marvelous. Now don’t fucking cry and squeeze everything out. Let’s have the soup in the living room. We can talk and lounge. In this weather, there’s no way in fucking hell both of us are going to work.” 

Turning off the stove and watching Hannibal’s body tremble as he continues to weep. “Stop crying, damn it! The soup tastes good, although it tastes a bit different from the last time you made it. Is that why you’re crying? Aww, it still is excellent and beats any authentic Italian soup. The best I’ve ever fucking had.” 

His chin digging into Hannibal’s shoulder, he pulls down his brother’s pajama pants and underwear to find the plug nestled inside his hole. 

“C’mere, I’ll make you feel better.” With a sultry smirk and a deep kiss, he tastes Hannibal’s salty tears and feels them gliding off his own face. “Big boys don’t cry, Hannibal, I’ll fuck you good, then I’ll eat that whole damn pot of soup. It really does taste good.”


	2. Why the Fuck Aren't You Here?

With no work to tend for a day at the club and having had too much whiskey the night before, Nigel had been pretty much glued to the couch with his brother’s iPad, looking through a few sites, wanting to purchase a new leather jacket. His tastes were pretty singular and what he liked was out of his budget. He had vowed to ask Hannibal if he can buy that particular one that he wanted so desperately. A limited edition, designer luxury brand that cost three grand. Way too expensive for a piece of clothing, but nothing satisfied him. As if he was obsessed with it, all he could think about was him in that leather. Daydreaming about it as he hears the late fall wind sweep all the fallen leaves off the ground and blowing them in every direction, he had been worrying about his brother. The temperature difference of day and night greatly varied. Knowing his brother, he was sure that he had taken at least a light sweater to keep him warm, but as he didn’t see Hannibal leave for whatever he had said he was going to do today, he was sure by the time he got inside the house, he was totally sloshed. 

Waiting for his brother as his stomach growls, he begins to rummage through the fridge and manages to find some leftover mashed potatoes and fresh eggs. He’d just flatten and pan fry the potato to make a bunch of potato cakes and make a scramble. Easy enough for a breakfast. That had only taken him about fifteen minutes tops and stuffing his mouth with a gusto had taken him even less than that. However, still no Hannibal. Texting his brother as he wonders where he might be, he gets the message pretty quickly. 

[text: dear brother] I told you, Nigel. I said I have an appointment at 7:30 for my check-up. I am still in the hospital. 

With a shrug of his shoulder, he picks up his thick jumper and hops on his bike. He fucking hates cold weather, so he’s in three layers. A short-sleeve t-shirt, a light sweater and the said jumper. In about twenty minutes, he arrives at Johns Hopkins and manages to find Hannibal still waiting in the waiting room. His brother doesn’t look too hot as he sees Hannibal shivering. “What the fuck is wrong with you, a fucking cold?” He touches his brother’s forehead and it comes back wet and hot. His brother’s head is stifling hot, while the body is trembling with cold. “A fever. I have a body temperature of 104 degrees Fahrenheit. Pretty high one, Nigel. I just didn’t want you to worry over me.” Giving his brother a side-eye as he takes off his jumper and drapes it over Hannibal’s shoulder, he gently pats his brother’s shoulders and pulls his brother closer to him, hoping he can offer some warmth. “You should’ve fucking told me, then you wouldn’t have to come here alone. Why the fuck do you have to be so godawful stubborn and obstinate ass?” Although his words are rather crude, his hazel eyes soften as he wraps his arm around Hannibal’s waist, letting him lean against his shoulder. “Don’t fucking tell me you have work today, or I’m chaining you up to the bed.”


	3. It's a Goddamn Race!

It had to happen today, Nigel’s bike had been in an accident. Not by him, but one of his associates had borrowed his and had it crashed pretty bad against the guardrail and upcoming car the opposite lane. The associate died instantly on the spot and his bike was thankfully insured, so his most prized and what he considered as his second body would be as good as new. He was furious, as Hannibal had given the bike to him as their birthday gift not too long ago. Condolence to the man, but oh well. The man hadn’t been wearing a helmet and he had exceeded speed limit on the most accident prone road in Baltimore, so he didn’t really care. As long as his bike returned to him in a pristine condition as it had been before. Hannibal had gone to run some errands around the town and they had decided to meet at the midpoint, as he had texted his brother he should be near where his brother is in five. Walking in his usual inveterate demeanor as his hips swing slightly sideways as he smugly walks, his steps exuded confidence. His handgun tucked in, his pocked knife pocketed inside the front pocket of his bomber jacket along with his pack of smoke and a lighter. As soon as he spots Hannibal coming out of ‘Enoteca’ as his brother called it (to him, it was just a wine store), he calls his brother’s name out loudly and waves his arm, his face brightening as he wraps his arm around Hannibal’s waist. “Whatcha get for today’s dinner?” He asks. “Something vintage, dry red to go along with what I have already in the oven. A rump roast with glazed carrots and roasted baby potatoes. You would appreciate the wine.” His brother remarks as they walk towards their house, which will be some distance. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t bring my Bentley as I thought we could use some exercise.” His brother was in more of a casual outfit today, unlike most days when he went shopping with his hair down. His own hair had been draping across his face, covering half of his face. 

He had vaguely remembered the forecast as they might have thunderstorm coming in the afternoon, but knowing that the forecast was always wrong in his opinion, he hadn’t brought his umbrella along with him. Apparently, Hannibal, the one who is supposed to be always prepared for anything and everything didn’t have one either. As the torrential rain begins to pour upon them, instantly wetting their hair and body like couple of wet dogs, which they literally were, they had decided to run. Sheltering from it didn’t make any sense, as they were already soaked to the bone. Feeling rather mischievous, he nudges Hannibal, who had been pushing his dark hair off his face and wiping his eyes, and sprints towards their houses’ direction. “Catch me if you can, Hannibal, whoever gets inside the house first gets to fuck the fucking loser, and so far, you’re going to be a sore loser who’ll look like a fucking drenched mutt.” Feeling the cascading raindrops upon his face and body as he runs, his mood feels somewhat lifted, as he briefly feels if he’s taken back to his adolescent years with Hannibal with him, sheltering from the rain when they were dirt poor. Watching Hannibal run like a stomping rhino in his direction, he mutters bunch of swears and begins to pick up his speed, finding his breath quickly run out as he runs for his dear life. There was no way he was going to get fucked tonight.


	4. A Fucking Dance??

Nigel should’ve known, when Hannibal took him to the tailor shop once again to redo his measurements and get a new three-piece, his brother was going to take him to a social event. Unbeknownst him as his husband had surprised him with a tuxedo he had never worn before, a satiny, black one with a navy waistcoat. It was a classic one, but had the flair that Nigel liked very much.

“I even got you a black and red striped one, just in case you want to wear it for work or in other occasions.” Hannibal had said. The one he had wanted, a dark-gray windowpane three-piece with a black waistcoat underneath was simple and suitable enough for him to wear it for special occasions. He wonders how much those cost, but he knows well enough by now that his brother will most definitely try to hide from him.

It was a charity event and there was an opera singer performing. He reluctantly agreed to go, as Hannibal had half-coaxed him for the liquor. “I will teach you how to dance waltz.”

Looking very suave and gorgeous than ever in their black matching tuxedos, the twins took on the center stage as Hannibal took his hand.

“You’re gonna fucking teach me a goddamn ballroom dance?” His face furrowed immediately. “And you’re going to make me a goddamn woman.”

Hannibal had smoothly countered. “No, I am merely leading you, you just have to follow my lead.”

A soft sigh flutters out, but taking Hannibal’s hand and letting him lead, his gaze locks upon Hannibal’s shiny shoes, wanting to not make a fool of himself as he tries his best to not to step on his brother’s shoes.

“Is this how I am fucking supposed -” All of a sudden, Hannibal spins his body sideways and wraps his waist with strong arms, latching the lips against his parted lips as his eyes flutter close, earning amused gazes from the spectators.

“You did well, for your first time.” After Hannibal had swung him down to his side for the grand finale, he kisses Nigel hard on his lips, latching them against Nigel's slightly parted ones.

"Well, that wasn't half fucking bad after all. As long as you don't make me feel like a goddamn woman while we dance." A soft smirk plasters on his lips as he lifts himself back up, patting Hannibal's shoulder as he drags his brother across the hall for that covetous bottle of whiskey bourbon.


	5. A 'Fucking' Masturbation

Slightly tipsy from his debauchery at the bar, Nigel returns to his flat by speeding and snaking through the heavy traffic of the night. Once securing his motorcycle and skipping the stairs to quickly climb to the top floor of his flat, he carelessly throws the keys, the wallet and each article of his cloth onto the couch. Now stark naked and ready to crash for the night, he grabs one of the big dildos from his special sex toy collection. He hadn’t seen his brother’s cock or anything, but he imagines it’s as same as his or perhaps little big bigger and thicker than his own. Hannibal was muscular and fit like he was and as he is Hannibal’s younger twin, so he figures the other twin will have the same girth.

He doesn’t even have to turn on the light in his flat. The moonlight shines through the big window and the darkness shrouding him actually gets him in the mood faster. He spits a generous amount of saliva onto his palm and coats the shaft of the dildo. He slouches against the couch and crudely sticks his saliva-coated index finger inside his tight hole. “Uhhhhmm..mmmm..fuck…” His hole immediately clenches around his digit as he pushes it all the way in. Thinking about Hannibal pushing inside him. He just figures one finger is enough, and the dildo is coated well with his saliva. He slowly sticks it inside him. “Fuck… H-Hannibal.. f-fuck….” His takes a series of sharp intakes of air as he fucks himself on the toy. The other hand stroking himself, slowly pumping and squeezing his cock. “Fuck, fucking huge, you’re gonna make me cum so fucking fast…” After only few thrusts of the dildo, brushing his prostate, he spurts hot and thick ropes of cum inside his hand and all over his thigh. He pops the dildo out and after coating it with his own cum, he sticks it inside his mouth, lazily sucking and licking it all down. He doesn’t bother to wash up and almost immediately falls asleep.


	6. 'Til Death Do Us Fucking Part, Indeed....

“……..Where the fuck is Hannibal’s body? After I fucking bash your head in and drown you in your fucking blood, I’ll tear all of your fucking limbs and toss them all over the fucking wilderness before….” 

He remains speechless and torn apart for a while, cocking his gun and pointing at the stranger. A tremor of sorrow upon him as it ripples through his whole body, the handgun trembles in his tight grip. The tears brimming over the corner of his eyes before he pulls the trigger, on the assailant’s shoulder, not at all a fatal shot. He intends to make him suffer as Hannibal had suffered as he slowly bled out. The assailant's caustic remark about how he had killed his brother had been a direct stab to his own heart. Something irreparable. 

Sauntering off to the kitchen, he finds his husband’s lifeless body, the color drained out of his face and still fresh crimson seeping out of the stab wound. Hannibal's usually intense and consuming maroon pupils lost its glint a long time ago. Eyes half-open, his face pallid and drooping. Dark strands cover half of his brother's limp face as Nigel lifts the other's head up. A stream of fat tears falls down on his blood-soaked shirt as he pulls the dagger from Hannibal’s chest. Walking over to the assailant’s body, he sticks the knife into the man’s throat and drags the blade down with rather impassive face, except his eyes are glassy with more tears threatening to drop. The blood splashing all over his face and body, like Hannibal had shed and poured his blood upon the killer's clothes. Hearing the man wail and scream, he sticks the dagger inside the man’s abdomen, watching the entrails pouring out of the limp man’s body. The man's evisceration is not enough for his vendetta as his expression grimaces. 

Quietly lifting up his brother’s dead and limp body, Nigel's bloodshot eyes sheds streams of tears as Hannibal’s blood seeps and transfers to his already blood-soiled shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I fucking let this happen.” The torrential rain is pouring and the thunderstorm is approaching, just like his mind seem to be at this moment. No, nothing would ever match how he feels right now. Devastated, his heart feels if it's crushed under his feet. Kicking the door open with a bang, he walks mindlessly in the woods, his tear and rain soaking both of their bodies. Hannibal's dead weight feels even more heavier, along with his mind endlessly falling into a bottomless void in a helix. Taking his gold-capped handgun for the last time, he puts it inside Hannibal’s hand and points the gun over to his heart. “I’d be rather dead than continue to live without you in my life, gorgeous, my love of my fucking life. We were supposed to die together and I'm sorry I wasn't able to let that happen. ‘Til death do us fucking part, brohubs.” 

With a loud bang that echoes through the woods, Nigel collapses down on the ground with Hannibal’s body on top of his. The blood profusely pouring out of his chest, the warm crimson soaking his brother’s face and his own neck. “Ahh…… I’ll see you later……… in other life… gor…geous.” With all of his strength, the drug lord pulls his twin’s heavy body up against his face to kiss still warm lips. The corner of his vision clouding and his hazel eyes fading away, his lips are still over Hannibal’s lips as his hand limply drops in the puddle. His head rolling against Hannibal's head, he exhales his last as rainwater and their blood mingle and gush down the slope of the hill. At least they will be united after their separate death.


	7. Fuck This Road Trip!

Nigel didn’t know where he was and the barren landscape just seemed like a continuous loop with countless rows of trees, occasional houses and little towns. He was definitely sure that he was lost now and the weather had been stifling and scorching hot with high humidity. His leather outfit sticking into his tanned and perspiring skin as he continued to ride on. The road condition wasn’t at its best and some gravel and dirt flicked onto his slim and long legs, dusting up the shiny leather and scratching the surface. The dusty road creating billows of smoke behind the exhaust pipe and thick wheels. His helmeted head profusely dripped sweat, but he couldn’t stop. He had to make it into the next gas station as his fuel ran low. 

He wanted to visit his brother, who lived in the other side of the country and now he was regretting why he didn't just book a flight ticket en route to Baltimore, instead of taking on a road trip. He had adamantly insisted that the trip shouldn't be too bad and he'd get there within a week, but so far, his expectation was letting him down. His cell was out of service as he tried to locate where he was and the townspeople had been not so kind to outsiders like him. 

Before it happened, though, his motorcycle had decided to break down. It might have been a slight heatstroke on his part as he didn’t do well with heat. the bike decided to shut down as it was still a few miles off from the next town. Getting off from his bike in frustration as an exasperated sigh slips out of his mouth, a drop of sweat drips down from cupid's bow onto his lower lip. Stripping himself off of the helmet and his leather jacket. The shirt underneath is already soaked with layers of dried and wet sweat, salt crystals forming on his broad back and pectorals. His leather pants didn’t absorb any of his sweat and perspiration dripped along his inner thigh and all over his legs. The dust from road dirtying up and caking onto his black leather. 

By the time he had seen the street sign which said he had a mile left into the next town, his eyes were closing and he was profusely sweating from his head. His ashen hair already soaked with sweat and each step he takes feels like a ton. Obviously, his leather boots weren’t made for walking long distance and he was sure he had blisters all over his feet. Every step he took, his muscles ached. The heavy metal of the bike wasn’t meant to be carried and dragged along with his hands. His arms shuddering and legs trembling, he stops when he can barely make the shape of the gas station and body shop near by. Finding a shaded abandoned building, Nigel leans the bike against the brick wall and stretches himself. His arms still aching from dragging the pounds of metal. Thankfully, he had a spare t-shirt inside the compartment, so he changes his sweat-soaked shirt into a new one. His throat parched and feeling tired, he leans against the broken down bike and lights a cig. Combing his dripping ashen locks, his head rolls against exposed and rough brick wall as he takes a first languid and long drag.


	8. Beg Like You Fucking Mean It!

With a seductive and lascivious gaze showing through his curtaining ashen hair, Nigel smirks as he looks at his brother on the table. Tying Hannibal’s ankles on each leg of the table, he bends the twin’s legs to the knees and bends his back, so there would be some space between the table and Hannibal’s back. He had wanted to inflict pain upon his dear brother for the night. Lastly, he ties Hannibal’s wrists and ties with each leg of the table on the other side, leaving Hannibal splayed open and ready for him. 

Taking a mesh chain with studs on them, he places the links under Hannibal’s arched back, wanting his brother’s back to stay in the same position, in a beautifully bowed shape during the whole procedure. “Remember your fucking safeword, it’s limerence.” Deeper and more mischievous smirk taking over his whole visage, Nigel lights the candle and begins to pour all over Hannibal’s ripped stomach and chest as he swaggers around the table. His brother was all about maintaining control and he had not even winced when he was under pain. He just might break it with the wax and then whipping him with the whip on top of that. 

Of course, Hannibal remains stoic for now. The tanned skin glistening with sweat and the hard cock gingerly bobbing against his thigh, it finally rests upon the twin's ripped abdomen. Watching the skin slowly turn pinkish as the candle wax drips down to cover Hannibal’s stomach, Nigel brings a set of vibrating beads, hooking the ring on his middle finger and spats on them to coat with his own saliva. The length of the transparent glass slides easily inside Hannibal’s tight hole as his brother’s legs begins to tremble. Watching the cock leak viscous liquid onto groin and smearing all over the thigh as it begins to twitch, he lights the second candle and leaves the beads inside his brother. “I’m fucking sure this particular one will let you emit some kind of sound from your fucking gorgeous as hell lips, Hannibal.” watching the candle turn into transparent and hot liquid, Nigel pours it straight onto the bead and cock, his lips slightly parted in awe and his eyes glinting with ferociousness and amusement. “Hm? mmm… What was that? You fucking want my cock now? Or do you want more wax dripped on your groin?” 

Roughly parting Hannibal’s legs to expose the lewd sight of the pearls having completely disappeared inside the twin’s tight hole and now hardened wax cracking and fragments of dried wax falling off to the edge of the table, more fresh, melted wax trickles down on the base of the cock and just above his hole. Finally, Hannibal starts to writhe and groan against the hot wax, the limbs thrashing as he furrows his forehead and eyebrows. “I don’t know… I think I want to see you cum all over the waxed stomach untouched. If you do that, then I’ll fucking fuck you hard however you'd like.” 

Shoving the pearls all the way inside Hannibal’s tight hole until his hooked finger brushes over the rim, Nigel finishes through the second candle, the underside of cock and groin completely littered with dried wax. The skin is reddish pink and it would probably need some aloe and ointment after he’s done with his twin. He decides he would give Hannibal what he needs. His cock is already dripping with precum, hard and throbbing. Feeling the cracks of each bead brush against the wall of Hannibal’s entrance, he takes out the glass beads in a one single rough sweep and replaces it with his cock, impaling Hannibal with his thick girth.


	9. A Fucking Viral Fever

On his way from a hard day at work, Nigel's head had started to feel a bit fuzzy. He hadn’t drank too much - just two shots of double-finger whiskey from working as a bartender at the club and he had a meeting with a few clients afterwards. Calling it a day a bit early as he wasn’t feeling too hot, he doesn’t remember how he even managed to get home. The traffic lights and the passing buildings all blur and his eyes feeling glassy with stifling heat, he knows a horrible viral fever or migraine is upon him. He doesn’t know which yet, but his head nevertheless begins to emit an acute throb that immediately makes his lips part and a fluttering groan slips out. Turning off the engine as he dismounts the bike, his brother should know that he has arrived. Hannibal was either in his study or in the living room, reading or drawing at this late hours. Perhaps his brother would be in the bedroom, if he ever decided to turn in early for the night. Pressing his fingers along the bridge of his nose as he ascends the stairs, he finds Hannibal inside the bedroom in his pajamas, reading from an iPad. Grimacing as he takes off all of his clothes except his boxer briefs, he climbs into the bed right away and leans against Hannibal’s shoulder. “I don’t feel so fucking hot.” He closes his eyes and feels as if his brain is kindled with fire. 

Putting down his iPad, Hannibal gently places his palm on Nigel's forehead. He had always liked the weighty and heavy feel of Hannibal’s hand on him and right now, his brother's touch had been feathery light, gliding across his clammy forehead. A doctor’s hand, so different from his own slightly calloused hand. A throaty groan resonates from his mouth as his heavy eyelids flutter close, as Hannibal pulls the blanket up to his waist, he covers himself all the way up to his chest. Something he never does, except when he is sick. His head feels like as if his brain is going to be cooked in a pressure cooker, while his body carries a slight tremor that continues to vibrate onto his whole body. His defense mechanism raising the body temperature to kill off any viruses and bacteria that he might have caught. Sliding down against the bed and laying his throbbing head against Hannibal’s chest, having forced to breath through his parted mouth, every joint on his body seems to ache as he completely melts against his brother’s body, hoping to sweat the fever off. Hannibal begins to press his fingers against the sinus glands, hoping to ease the congestion and to massage Nigel's tense muscles along the back of his neck, easing the knots. A dull and throbbing pain continuing to radiate from the back of his eye sockets, Nigel dares not to open his eyes, as his eyes feel like they are going to pop out and steam from the scorching heat that rise. A fluttering stream of groan slips out as he feels Hannibal’s fingers work his face. Of course, his brother would know the perfect spots to press on. He wants to say that it really feels good, continue, but all he can emit is contented half-grunt and half-guttural groan as his body almost spasms, his body trembling intensifying as he continuously sweats. Beads of them wetting the sheets and blanket that covers him as he pulls it up to his neck now. His hand clutches Hannibal's soft maroon sweater, tugging the fabric. 

"You have to eat something, at least some broth or soup will help speeding up your recovery. Be back in a moment, until then, why don't you get some sleep?" Hannibal places more of those light touches on his forehead before he walks away. As soon as his brother leaves to cook him something he can keep down without vomiting it up, a coughing fit takes over and his clammy forehead strains, as veins start to rise up on the surface of the skin. His heart palpitating as he feels his heart rate escalate, he lets out a soft groan as his fingers brush against the hem of Hannibal’s sweater. “That would be great, I haven’t been able to keep anything down since this morning.” Too enervated to let out an objection as his body lax, he falls into a fitful sleep with his mouth slightly parted, almost wheezing as his chest frantically expands. His skin has been chilled considerably and he continues to sweat intermittently. Hannibal carefully slips out of Nigel's hold as his brother rests for a bit while he makes and brings the food up. 

Hannibal bring a tray in front of him, a bowl of thick, pureed vegetable soup and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice along with few pills. Feeling Hannibal’s hand on his forehead, Nigel slowly arouses, his eyes twitch open to regard his twin with glassy eyes. "Vitamin C from the orange juice will help you with your immune system, take the pills and drink this, slowly." Nigel nods as Hannibal hands him a few Panadol pills on his palm and a cup of orange juice and he slowly drinks it down along with the pills, the cool liquid offering his parched and swollen throat some comfort. Propping with his shaking arm as he leans heavily against the headboard with a thud, he looks and stirs the thick and steamy soup presented in front of him. “Can’t fucking smell and taste anything.” Considering the color of the soup, the only thing he can make of is the tomatoes in the soup. "Tomatoes and root vegetables, along with broccoli and beans. Essentially minestrone soup all pureed up." Hannibal comments as he strokes Nigel's shoulder. His heavily lidded eyes gazing down at the bowl as he scoops the content up, his trembling hand finds its way to his mouth. Dryly swallowing as he feels a lump in his throat, he grimaces and swallows the thick soup. At least he’d not barf up the food like he had been doing since the afternoon.


	10. Bringing down that fucking Dragon

A serial killer, violent and predatory in his own right, had been tracking Hannibal down. Hannibal had always said, he got himself an admirer. Someone who didn’t see his brother like everyone else did. Someone who was kind of like him, although almost everyone termed Hannibal to be a psychopathic, cannibalistic serial killer who deserved to be locked in a psychiatric hospital forever. Have him declared mentally insane and have him as the most prized possession of Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane and see him as the devil incarnate, but Nigel saw him at his brother’s most affectionate and lovable state. Hannibal has been, is and will be his one and only brother, friend, lover and husband. All of those amalgamated was enough for him and he didn’t need all those berating and derogatory titles attached to his brother. Hannibal the Cannibal, The Chesapeake Ripper, Il Mostro and all the other things. He was just Hannibal. Nigel’s identical twin whom he dearly loved, more than anything else in the world. Hannibal was terrifying and strange at times, but he was beautiful. Like he was, he had a predator’s aura upon his impressive physique. Nigel had admired, appreciated and respected for the fact that Hannibal too, had taken all of his traits, both positive and negative and loved him for what he was. Both were imperfect human beings, but they were beautiful in their own ways. 

Obviously, Hannibal had been on the run since breaking out of BSHCI, thanks to Nigel and his associate’s help. Equally, because of his notorious deeds and breaking into the hospital had made Nigel a convicted murderer. Now in their second house that Hannibal had purchased in advance, no one had known about this particular place, where Hannibal had taken Miriam Lass, Abigail later and then had taken Nigel as they absconded from their mansion. Francis Dolarhyde was relentless and highly resourceful. Obsessed with William Blake’s watercolors of the dragons, he was on the verge of becoming the Dragon as He had wished to change - kill - Hannibal. When Hannibal had opened the vintage dry wine to celebrate their escaping, Nigel had heard a gunshot. Unmistakably, a silencer was attached to the gun and the wine bottle shattered into a thousand pieces. Then, Hannibal was collapsed on the ground, clutching his side as he had been shot on his lower abdomen. Nigel instinctively reached for his gold-capped handgun and had shot Francis on the arm. With a bodybuilder’s size and Francis being heftier and broader than the twins, it had taken them great deal of effort to bring him down. 

Francis had been shot on his left arm, but as soon as Nigel had shot him, Francis threw his body forward at Nigel and had stabbed him on his left shoulder. Blood poured out of him like a fountain. A tearing scream upon him as Francis lifted him up by his neck against the wall. Hannibal immediately tackled the bigger man down, making Nigel to stagger forward, grabbing his arm as he quickly walked to grab the gun. Francis easily hurls Hannibal over the glass window, which immediately shatters as his brother fell over the ground, tumbling and rolling around as dirt rises from the ground, grimacing as he rolls. Blood soaking and pouring out of all three men, it was a matter of who strikes more effectively and quickly. 

Nigel took out his pocket knife and immediately worked to bringing down the bigger man by the knees. Slicing the lower thigh as he watched skin separate like butter against the hot knife, the knife that Hannibal had given him for their birthday, the Lecter crest on the handle, engraved in silver and titanium immediately brought Francis on his knees. Hannibal was upon Francis’ neck, his sharp canines tearing the sensitive skin as Nigel stabbed him deep inside the abdomen. As soon as Hannibal had taken out his scalpel to slice the jugular on the neck, Nigel’s blade soared upward against the muscular body as more blood soaked his white button down shirt. The Dragon finally eviscerated, blood and entrails pouring out of him as he collapsed on the ground, dead before his body even hit the ground. 

Watching the man go down, gushing streams of blood upon the graveled ground and they both hear the siren coming from the distance. Their intense and stormy eyes lock as their eyes gaze at the same place as moonlight was upon them. Their only escaping route, down the cliff at least fifty feet down into the deep cerulean blue sea. Nigel’s eyes waver slightly as his hazel pupils flicker between the deep down sea and Hannibal’s determined eyes. “Grab me tightly and jump. Swing me over. We will be fine.” Hannibal had mentioned something about coastal erosion and the dramatic impact that it brought. As he looks at Hannibal’s smirking face. Nigel’s own lips curl up in satisfaction. Once again, they will rise to the top. With Hannibal’s almost unending resource they will make it to the shore, albeit injured, their bodies will be hard to spot. Covered in blood as it appears black under the moonlight. With a deathly grip on Hannibal’s back and waist, Nigel tilts and turns their body down to descent, falling off the cliff and hitting the water together, breaking the surface as they slowly sink, their lips and body pressed together as he feels his brother’s side continues to stream blood red onto his own flesh. Nigel opens his eyes underwater and all he sees is Hannibal’s serene face as a few bubbles rise up with their blood leaving in smaller amounts under the ocean.


	11. It Takes More Than a Fucking Bullet

The last thing Nigel remembers is being inside an abandoned warehouse with his trusty associates. Trying to procure and secure the firearms and drug shipment inside the fenced room. Then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere he feels the searing pain under his left rib cage as he falls face-first on the ground with his own pool of blood spreading out on the cold concrete floor. His arms breaking the fall, he avoids scraping or cutting his face. As his body convulses and trembles, he sees crimson red trickle down and soak the side of his face and permeate his draped ashen locks, his eyes still as he tastes blood inside his taste buds. He faintly groans, the corner of his eyes creasing as he knits his forehead. Hearing a succession of screams and thumping sound as more body drops onto the ground. His vision starts to fade into black as he hears one of his associates helping carry his limp body and the sound of ambulance in a distance, the last thing he feels before he becomes unconscious is a set of hand pressing onto his chest.

The first thing he senses is the smell of hospital and the sound of beeping sounds emitting from the vital machine. Weakly turning his head, his eyes slowly flutter open as his lashes stick to his skin. His eyelids feeling much more heavier than usual, he tries to sit up against the bed. Feeling his throat parched and his back sweaty from laying down on the bed for too long, he feels a warm hand grabbing his own. Hannibal. His brother was slouched against the edge of the bed, his head tilted sideways and fast asleep. Trying to scoot closer to his brother as his gaze falls on Hannibal’s slightly creased and grimacing face, he reaches his arm as far as he can and fails to stroke Hannibal’s luscious dark hair. He groans and furrows his forehead as an acute jolt of pain shoots through his chest. As a light sleeper Hannibal was, he immediately wakes up as Nigel moves around and squeezes his hand. “Ahh… fuck.” Immediately, he frees his hold from Hannibal’s, as the other arm was hooked onto IV drips and blood bags for a transfusion to brush over the bandages on his chest. A few drops of crimson seeping through the bandages. 

“Can you push that fucking button to call the nurse?” Nigel weakly mutters as Hannibal helps him lay down again and once the nurse comes to tend to his bleeding and rewrap the bandages, she ministers more morphine. Hannibal reassures the nurse that he should be fine under his care and rather quickly dismisses her. Feeling the morphine enter his bloodstream, he begins to feel a bit drowsy and hazy. Heavily sighing as his chest expands, he watches his brother, who is reading something on his iPad rather quietly. “You need proper rest, Nigel, go to sleep. I’ll be here. I cancelled all of the sessions for this week and I will take you home tomorrow, so you can properly rest. I will able to tend you and observe your recovery.” Hannibal takes off his jacket, neatly hangs it against the back of the chair and lays on the side bed next to Nigel’s bed. Kissing his brother’s palm and the back of his hand, Hannibal turns off the light of their private ward and leans against Nigel, softly kissing his lips. The repetitive beeping of the monitor feeling like a lullaby, he closes his eyes and leans against Hannibal’s kiss and dreamily smiles. “Did the hospital call you?” Hannibal brushes his warm hand against Nigel’s shoulder and runs it all the way down the length of his arm. “Yes, you get injured way too often, dear brother. Do I have to get a mini hospital in our house to tend to your wounds?” He playfully remarks, but his face is full of worry. “The bullet just missed your heart by few inches. You could’ve died, Nigel!” Sitting on the edge of the bed and letting out an exasperated sigh, Hannibal’s face is more expressionistic than usual, genuinely worried about his brother’s illicit and dangerous job. “Would it too much if I asked you to quit your job?”

Nigel’s eyes immediately narrow in a slit. “Why do you fucking ask that now? All the fucking time when I got hurt, when I was almost fucking gutted like a goddamn fish, you didn’t even budge.” His head rolls to his shoulder, the morphine kicking in and his head begins to get fuzzy. Hannibal takes a deep, fluttering breath as he gets up and sits against Nigel’s bed, propping himself by the elbows and entwines his fingers against his brother’s. “Nigel, I’m pregnant…. It has been few weeks now. I haven’t been able to tell you, because you were so busy with your so-called ‘assignments,’ but anyways, the baby is going to be two girls. Just like us, they’re twins. I don’t want to raise them alone. What if you don’t wake up the next time, my love?” Hannibal’s maroon eyes soften as they slightly water up. Nigel squeezes his hand hard, freeing from the hold and strokes Hannibal’s cheek. “Fucking lord, gorgeous, you fucking should’ve told me before and I would’ve quit without any hesitation. Of course, I’d quit and you don’t fucking have to worry, dear husband. It takes me more than a fucking bullet wound to bring me down. We’re going to be together until death do us fucking part, remember? I fucking intend to keep that promise no matter what.”


	12. A Fucking Underwater Kiss

They were finally back in Paris, where they belonged, after all those dramatic and unexpected events that dragged and halted their road trip. Filled with recollections of blood, sex, confronting their fears and confirming their unending love that began since when they were born into the earth, they had vowed and promised to never part with each other. As each day passed, all they have realized was that they belonged together and desperately needed each other. After all those horrendous memories that haunted him, Nigel’s caged mind was finally freed of his recurring nightmares, with him drowning in the cold water of late fall. He felt no more like a wounded animal. 

They had gone to the swimming pool that they’d been when they were adolescent boys. They were both good swimmers, as they had frequently came to practice swimming. Hannibal teaching him to how to do the butterfly stroke. Nigel was better at freestyle. They had their strengths and weaknesses, so they complemented each other’s strokes.

Nigel had been feeling a bit mischievous as he wanted to push his brother into the pool merely for the fun of it. He wanted to see his brother gasp in the still a bit frigid water of early September. As Hannibal stretched, he had made an excuse to go to the bathroom and instead of going inside the building, he sneaks behind his brother and strongly pushes his brother inside the big and deep pool. Watching Hannibal fall into the pool, Nigel soon dives inside the pool, head-first to catch his brother. 

“Nigel! What the hell did you do that for?” Hannibal sticks his head out and shouts, shuddering as he feels the goosebumps form on his arms. Giving his younger twin a playful eye, he turns his body around and dives under the water to pull at Nigel’s leg. Nigel sinks his body under the water, completely submerging himself as he searches for Hannibal’s face. Soon, their eyes lock and as if they had promised each other, they close in the distance to hold their faces and locks their lips, the small bubbles surfacing through the clear water. Their warm lips emit burning desire as their kiss continues, their tongues sticking out and devouring each other’s mouths. They both could hold their breaths surprisingly well - more so for Nigel, who was a chain smoker. Maroon eyes clashing against hazel, their intense, but affectionate eyes lock for a while, as if the outside world halts for them. After about a minute, they break to the surface, their lips still locked.


	13. What the Fuck Did You Just Watch?

[text: dear brother] If you are on the way back from work, can you please purchase a bottle of dry red from the usual wine store? 

When Nigel receives the text message from Hannibal, he had been just getting out of the club with his usual swagger, wanting to straightly go home and cuddle into his brother’s warmth. Already thinking about having a bottle of whiskey in his hand and the other wrapping around Hannibal’s narrow waist, he mounts on his Ducati and quickly takes off, the night scenery passing in a blur as he speeds through the traffic. The I-95 is deserted with very sporadic traffic, as the city basked in moonlight. The day had been cool, cloudless and crisp. 

Feeling the fresh air blow his ashen hair as he pulls in front of the liquor store, he purchases the said bottle his brother had asked and a bottle of Chivas Regal for him. Wanting something with more burn than flavor, so that he can guzzle it down and pass out, he struts with brown bag clutched against his chest. In a flash, Nigel makes it to their house and finds Hannibal laying down against the couch, sniffing. The room is dark with the fireplace crackling with the wood slowly burning. 

“What the fuck? Why are you crying?” His expression conveys a myriad of emotions, mostly amusement and curiosity. Perhaps a bit of surprise as well. He seldom saw Hannibal ever cry. The next words flabbergasts Nigel even more. “I watched Lion King and it was so sorrowful.” Hannibal lifts himself up as he watches his younger brother bring the bottle he asked for. “Don’t fucking get up, your ass stays where you’re glued to.” Retrieving a wine glass and not bothering to take a glass for himself, Nigel flops down next to his twin and opens the wine bottle. “Lion fucking King. Isn’t that a Disney movie? A fucking animation. Hannibal Lecter, who is as cold as he can be with other people outside of this mansion, fucking cried like a child watching a kids’ movie?” He scoffs as he silently toasts, opening his whiskey bottle and guzzles about two inches of liquor. “I thought that movie was about bunch of…. Lions.” He impassively remarks. 

Hannibal drapes his arm around Nigel’s shoulder, leaning against his brother as he twirls the glass, drinking his red faster than his usual slow sipping. “Mm, this tastes exceptional. You know how devastating it is, watching Mufasa get killed by stampede by his younger brother Scar? That was uncalled for. Oh, I can feel more tears well up just thinking about it.” Crossing his legs as his thigh brushes against his brother’s, Nigel softly chuckles as he watches the other’s eyes blow wide, watching the tears brim out. “Goddamn it, Hannibal.” The bottle still inside his tight grip, his arm circles around Hannibal’s shoulder and pulls him closer, letting the twin’s head lean against his chest as he slouches further against the plush cushion. “If you’re projecting into the movie, don’t you fucking worry, I’m not fucking dying.” He chugs from the bottle as he feels Hannibal’s tears fall down, trailing his brother’s defined cheekbones and then falling down to his lap. Fluttering a deep sigh as he takes Hannibal’s wine glass by the stem and putting it on the table along with his whiskey bottle, Nigel lowers himself on the couch, laying as he pulls Hannibal on top of him. 

“Dear brohubs, remember, we vowed when we got married. ‘til death do fucking apart. We were born together, so we exit the world together.” His leg wrapping around Hannibal’s leg as he strokes his brother’s dark strands, his thumb ghosts over the other’s cheek as he feels the warm tear permeate his skin. “You scared me, Nigel, do you have any idea how frightened I was when you walked through that door and collapsed on top of me with your shirt soaked in blood? I was so frightened.” Hannibal’s hand brushes over the hem of Nigel’s shirt, where the stitches should be. Hannibal remembers, his brother had stumbled upon his body with a gunshot on his side. Hannibal had expertly stitched the wound up and ministered some painkillers, but he feels his breath hitch when he thinks about the incident. 

“Don’t you fucking worry, my dear omega. You bear our child and there’s no fucking way I’m dying a premature death with our girl inside your tummy.” Lazily smiling as he pulls Hannibal into a soft kiss, his lips grope the older twin’s own as he deepens the kiss. His hand stroking slightly protruding tummy, his hand gropes Hannibal’s ass. “Mmm. I should have you slow and nice tonight. So you can feel better.”


	14. "I'm Always Fuckable."

The ray of sun comes in stripes as it radiates on the twins’ entwined, naked and tanned bodies, the light dissipating on their skin as their unblemished skin glows. The statuesque bodies merged into almost one, they literally are the embodiment of Greek marble sculptures. Most often, it’s Hannibal who gets aroused first. His arm is draped over Nigel’s narrow hips and the other is under his brother’s neck, clutching around the nape of the other’s neck. His leg trapped between Nigel’s muscular thighs. Rolling off the bed and as careful as he can, not to wake his brother up, Hannibal smiles as he puts on his robe and sits on the edge of the bed. Wiping his eyes with the side of his hand, he stretches his limbs and his palm brushes over the duvet. The cum stains littered around the dip of the mattress, his body impression and the wrinkled bedsheets still next to his deeply slumbering brother. 

Nigel only stirs a bit as he emits a low and guttural hum as his leg glides against the smooth Egyptian cotton. His arm gingerly laying on his ripped abdomen and the other thrown around his head, his luscious, ashen blonde hair draws a halo around his head. Hannibal had always thought, Nigel had the most glorious bedhead and the most serene and boyish face. His brother looked so different from how he was known outside this room. Who would ever know his younger twin as the notorious drug lord who was so violent and brutal? He was aware of that side, as he had seen that animalistic and dark glint that his brother’s hazel pupils bore. Right now, he just looked like a young boy he had fallen in love, hopelessly and irresistibly. 

Hannibal could draw Nigel without a reference, as he already knows every inch of his brother’s body. How his neck would become taut and the pin-up girl tattoo would slightly stretch, especially the asymmetrical hip part. And the gold chain and small charm he had given him a long time ago, they dangled and moved around as he had fucked into his little brother. He could still hear Nigel’s characteristically low and husky groans and grunts ringing against his ears. How the bed creaked under his relentless thrusts. Nigel’s ring of muscles fluttering and tightening around his thick length. As fat veins around the surface of Hannibal’s cock throbbed, he felt his brother’s cock curve to paint a semicircular smear across his tight stomach. He still had Nigel’s dried cum all over his stomach and chest. He would’ve washed off, but both being so exhausted, as they basked in afterglow, they had almost concurrently drifted off, listening to each other’s strongly thumping heartbeat as a lullaby. 

So Hannibal draws Nigel until his younger twin finally opens his eyes. Hannibal relishes his brother waking up, closing half-finished sketchbook as his eyes lock with the other’s. As soon as Nigel’s eyes open up and his lips curl up in a sleepy smile, Hannibal gazes at Nigel’s dreamy eyes and kisses his brother’s lips. “Mmm… G’morning. Were you drawing me again?” Nigel chuckles as he rolls around, his half-hard cock bobbing as he lays on his back. “As always, dear love, I cannot refrain from drawing what I find so mesmerizing and stunning.” Smiling, Hannibal leans against Nigel’s torso and pecks soft kisses along his brother’s warm cheek. “You look so fuckable right now.” His hand travels south to glide across Nigel’s chest fuzz, tight stomach and against the groin, his fingertips ghosting over the length before lifting his brother’s legs up. “You really are fucking insatiable when it comes to fucking me, aren’t you? Day and night, every single fucking day. And I’d let you, because fuck, no one can give me what I want, besides you.”


	15. Something I Can't Fucking Say out Loud

To. Dear brother.

I have been meaning to send a letter as soon as I got your contact information from the nurse at the hospital. I have no fucking idea how she even found my address, but oh well. Funny enough, I am at the fucking hospital, too. I am sorry you got into a car accident. Hope your pretty face isn’t too messed up. That’s my favorite part of you and the the least favorite it is for me, actually. I can’t bear to look at the mirror now, because I don’t see myself in it, I see you staring at me with your soft maroon hue. I fucking hate you, you’re still dominating my brain. I just can’t fucking get you out of my goddamn head. No matter what I do, where I go… You’re always with me and I keep thinking about you.

Now I am laying in the hospital, staring at the bleak white walls with ligature mark still visible around my neck, going through hemodialysis. Apparently I took way too much cocaine and I was on the verge of overdosing when I was admitted to the hospital. Thank fuck someone found me passed out on the floor in front of my flat, but I just wished I was left there alone. I tried to end my life so many fucking times and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to do it. Accidents, binge drinking, poisoning myself…. I’ve tried. Even put a fucking barrel up in my temple and inside my mouth. I couldn’t do it. 

You left and abandoned me, but you are the fucking sliver of light in my life. I miss you and I abhor you. I love you, but I want to kill you for what you have done to me. I am not going to say I miss you, because I fear that how you feel about me won’t be the same and if I ever hear that from your mouth, then I just might pull that goddamn trigger.


	16. Goddamn It! It's a Fucking Rape Drug!

Sitting on a booth inside the club with a conjoined bar next to it, he had to go through obdurate parties of three of his clients, all so very persistent and obstinate to the point of his annoyance. He had promised them shipments of smuggled coke that had taken sedulous labor from his associates and himself. Of course, he had been also tenacious in that he was going to stick to his first demand. Take the containers or leave them. He could make more money off of other people, more naive and those ones he could influence. Hannibal had also insisted to follow him, as he wanted to observe his little brother at work. Nigel had never taken his brother inside his club and he was reluctant at first, but as headstrong and stubborn his brother was, he eventually had to said yes. 

He’d spurn them all with disdain as he left them aside. Esurient in their own yearnings, there was no way he would show sympathy for those he’d bring down later. With wistful eyes, he leaves them to natter at each other. Needing of more strong drink than several bottles of beer he had already drank, he asks the bartender for two fingers of whiskey without the rock. “Make it fucking three fingers, damn, just fucking fill it to the rim. I need more than that fucking watered down beer.” A heavy sighing flying out of his lips, once the bartender brings out his drink, it disappears in a flash. Hannibal had gotten his own glass of wine and eventually ends up ordering a bottle as the meeting drags on. 

As he leans against the bar counter and smokes a light, his eyes searching and heavily hooded. The glint in his eyes never leave those intense hazel pupils as his eyes fixate on his brother. Hannibal’s demeanor screamed drugs. His usual posture slouched, possibly a rape drug. Someone had adulterated his drink and he was showing the telltale signs of the drug. Sweating, his face looking like as if it had been lit with fire, he could take his brother to some kind of safe haven, but he’s curious what would happen. So he keeps his unwavering eyes on Hannibal and observes. He cannot wait for the meeting to be done with. 

Then, his eyes rise up, spotting the man who is clearly and definitely trying to take the advantage of his muddled state. His futile resistance having rendered useless. As they disappear into the back of the club, he lurks in the side, out of sight. He knows the layout of the club like the back of his hand. Hearing the man’s shout as his brother’s foot dive into the man’s leg, Nigel sprints out of almost nowhere, grabs the man’s shoulder to turn him around and lands a strong punch across the man’s face. The man had been a slightly taller than him with a broad build, so it takes him more effort to drive the man’s head onto the corner of the door frame, immediately knocking him out. His strong biceps flex as he watches the man slowly slide off the walls, with blood smeared on his hand. He could instantly smell the strong scent of liquor on the man, so he’d probably not remember who had hit him. 

As he watches Hannibal, he finds one of the private rooms near where his office would be and snatches his wrist. Closing the door behind him as he kisses Hannibal hard, he inspects his brother’s eyes closely, they are glassy and bleary. His warm hand immediately goes over the Hannibal’s forehead. “Have you got any fucking idea what could’ve happened if the man ever fucking caught up with you?” His hand comes back sweaty, beads of sweat smearing onto his warm skin. “Goddamn it, Hannibal, that’s why I advised you to stay at the house and of course you have to be a fucking tight ass. You need to flush the fucking drug out of your system. Why don’t you stay here and I’ll fetch something.” As Hannibal wobbles to find his footing, Nigel helps his brother settle on the couch and lets Hannibal’s head rest against his chest. “I’ll get something that can help the drug dilute. Don’t move your fucking ass. I’ll be right back.”


	17. Good Fucking Morning to You, Too

Nigel had been in a deep and peaceful slumber in a fetal position, with one of his hands thrown carelessly around his head, while the other hand holding Hannibal’s arm draped over his chest. As his older twin spooned him from his back, his chest rise and fall intermittently. The sunlight basks their naked bodies, unfiltered and bright. The blanket barely covering their exposed groin and cocks. Nigel had been awake for a while when Hannibal’s hand makes its way around his defined hipbone and the fingertip runs over his half-hard length. He tries to muffle the groaning, but it escapes his mouth otherwise. His groan thick and husky with sleep and arousal as his older twin tantalizingly circles his entrance with the other hand. His back arching against Hannibal’s hard body, his glutes squeeze as his already hard cock begins to leak. “Ohh…. fuck, Hannibal. Just fucking take me already.” He pleads as he his head rolls forward, his shoulder lurching as well as his abdomen tightens.

When Hannibal’s thick erection pushes through Nigel’s resistance and his back bow more sharply, he speaks as his breath begins to flutter, his chest rapidly rising and falling as it begins to thump frantically. “Of course, I’ve fucking been awake, since you began to stroke my cock. Good fucking morning to you too, Hannibal. What a fucking wake-up call.” He muses and smirks, letting out another deep moan as Hannibal’s thick and curved cock easily slides inside him, the irresistible friction already sending him over the edge. He parts his legs further and drapes one of them over Hannibal’s thigh, taking the thick girth deeper inside of him. Hannibal holds him tightly, his whole body rippling and undulating like a tidal wave. Slow and deep, Hannibal’s low and guttural groan resonates against Nigel’s ear as his walls tightly clench and flutter around the thick length. Hannibal’s veinous cock throbs with blood flow as his younger twin’s walls squeeze around in all the right places. With every kiss on Nigel’s sweet spot, he lets out shaky groan as his lips part, puffing out warm breath as his heart frantically beats under Hannibal’s broad hand that holds him tightly, their hard bodies pressed and melting together. 

Hannibal kisses Nigel deeply as he turns his head backwards, wanting to look at his brother’s face. Molding their soft and full lips against each other’s as their tongues dance inside Nigel’s mouth, Nigel pushes backward to match Hannibal’s increasingly fast rhythm and gently sucks on his brother’s tongue. Hannibal parts from the kiss and nips his younger twin’s earlobe. He lets out more wanton groan as his cock begins to weep precum onto the duvet. Hannibal’s heavy balls and the base of the cock smacking harshly and rhythmically against Nigel’s ass as he relentlessly pistons his hips, Hannibal begins to feel the surge of cum travel down to his lower abdomen. 

Still reeling from his exquisite orgasm, Hannibal’s hand wraps around Nigel’s throbbing and leaking length as he begins to squeeze. Feeling Hannibal’s body tremor with pleasure as he nears his own release, he feels Hannibal’s length throb inside his walls. Nigel squeezes his walls hard, his muscles flex in ripples as he moves along with Hannibal’s fast and shallow strokes. With a grunt as his hold on Nigel’s taut stomach tightens, Hannibal cums thick ropes deep inside his brother. Almost simultaneously, Nigel spills his warm and viscous essence all over his brother’s hand. They both still as they ride through the rippling orgasm, basking in the thick and heavy scent of their sweat and sex. Relishing the fullness as Hannibal’s cock still inside him, he hears Hannibal lick his cum clean from the fingers. “You taste so good in the mornings. I should wake you up like this more often.” After popping his cock out of him, Nigel turns to face his brother and drapes his arm over Hannibal’s sweaty and broad back. 

Feeling his slick and Hannibal’s cum trickle down his ass and thighs as he inches closer against his brother, he licks a trail along Hannibal’s neck, relishing the familiar heady and musky scent that is so unique of his brother. Not unlike his, but more crisp and heavy. “And I’d fucking let you wake me up in this way. I fucking love you so much, dear brother.” Lazily smiling as he brushes his wet ashen locks away from his face, Nigel does the same with his brother’s hair and presses his lips against his twin’s, their glistening and tanned bodies entwine as they share languid and slow kiss, the duvet moving along with their bodies as Nigel climbs on top of his brother. “So, ready for round two? It’s my fucking turn now.”


	18. A Letter He Couldn't Fucking Send

To. Hannibal.

Guess what, I’m fucking done with you. I can’t live like this anymore. No matter what kind of fucked up shit happens to me, at the end of the day, I can’t shake off my heart’s content for the fact that I am desperately and hopelessly in love with my twin, brother, the best friend and the one and only fucking lover I’ve had in my entire life.

I am fading miserably and spiraling down into a bottomless pit. I’ve tried to love Gabi and I have loved her with all of my heart, but it simply wasn’t the same. How we couldn’t get our hands off of each other’s, I still remember those times you had snuck out of work so that I could have you. There is a lump in my throat I just can’t get down. More than often I want to rip my fucking heart out so that I don’t feel the throbbing ache when it comes to thinking about you. So many mirrors have been shattered and broken, myriads of cuts and injuries already happened. I am trashed.

Whatever happens to me, whenever we end up meeting, whether in this life or next, just don’t let me go and no matter how fucking difficult it gets, don’t fucking give up on me like every fucking one has in my life. You know my weaknesses, you hold the keys to them, but hold my strengths. Love me til my last fucking breath and I promise I’m all yours, til forever ends.

I love you and miss you, so fucking much. I hope you feel the same way about me. So many tears and blood have been spilled and I can’t deal with this anymore.


	19. Nigel's Bike Breaks Down

“Ahhh, fuck lord! ugh!!!” Having been snaking through and over-passing the vehicles as usual as Nigel speeds through the traffic. He was so excited. After two days of having been disposed in New York for a meeting with exclusive clientele, he was relieved and glad to be back home with Hannibal. He is almost at the midpoint when the rain starts to pour down on him. The helmet rendered useless as the visor keeps splashing the water and making the view bleary as the cascading water covers his peripheral vision, he pulls the bike on the side of the road and removes his helmet. His leather jacket already soaked, the chilly wind of October upon him as he is reduced to wearing a short-sleeve shirt underneath. His sweaty ashen locks soaking wet in an instant, he shakes his head like a wet dog and continues on. The traffic is heavier than usual and he continues to make short halts. Apparently there is a huge traffic accident in front of them and the police are trying their best in clearing out the scene. Lots of casualties and injured people that needs tending. A long exhale slips out of his lips as he slouches against the handle.

Then, there it goes, having reduced to driving at only half the mph he usually drives, the rain making the road slippery and also, without the helmet, everything makes his drive risky and extremely dangerous. Something pops out from his bike and the engine immediately dies. “Oh fucking god! Not now, goddamn it…” Mumbling some more swearing words out as he grumbles, he hops away from his bike as he literally lets it crash against the guardrail and then watches it bounce off against the ground as he finds shelter, at least if he stayed under the tree, he’d at least prevent himself from getting soaked to his bones.

[text: bro] I am fucking stuck here with my goddamn bike broken. On I-95, between exit 87 and 88. Probably an hour away from Baltimore, get your fucking ass out here now.

He quickly texts his brother and sits on the bike’s exhaust pipe, literally sprawling on it as he takes a cig, the road to his back. The thick white quickly dissipating into the wet air as the rain pours even harder. The sound of torrential rain bouncing off of his broken down bike.

[text: dear brother] I will be there as soon as possible. It’s raining, keep yourself warm. 

After exactly an hour, Hannibal’s Bentley pulls up behind him as he shudders from the coldness. Both of his arms wrapped around his knees and his body curled up in a ball, his hand placed under his armpits. He had known how to keep himself warm in these unlikely conditions. Immediately scurrying after his little brother with an umbrella in his hand. Hannibal’s more in his casual outfit. That maroon sweater with shirt underneath, a warm pair of wool pants that weren’t suit pants. Nigel would’ve taunted or teased if his brother was in his usual three-piece with wool coat over top of that. “What happened, Nigel? Did you crash the bike? I thought you said your motorcycle broke down.” He frowns slightly as he watches half-smashed bike on the ground where Nigel sits.

“I-I’m unhurt. Just get me inside and warm me up, fucking lord. It’s cold.” His teeth clatters as he gets up, rather unceremoniously as he wobbles. Hannibal merely smirks as he holds Nigel’s hand firmly and takes his brother into the back seat. “Why don’t you get inside, it’s all heated up for you and I can’t wait to heat you up.” With a wink, he pushes Nigel inside and straddles him down.


	20. Bentley Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Continuation from the last drabble

Nigel’s lips starting to change color as he purses his lips, as soon as his soaked wet back glide against Bentley’s heated up seat, his body literally melts against the plush leather. “Oh f-fucking god… Help me with the pants.” Quickly pulling his wet, thin shirt off and discarding it on the floor, he pulls Hannibal down, who is shutting the door behind him. Hannibal softly smirks and pulls the jeans down without even undoing the buttons, knowing that his brother’s pronounced hipbones would be the only means of holding up the waistband of the jeans. 

Hannibal’s tongue swipes against the back of his teeth. Nigel’s naked body glistens with beads of rainwater and his brother’s sweat. Quickly removing his clothes as well, Hannibal revels at his brother’s length, which twitches against those muscular thighs, already half-hard. “Just delectable, Nigel. So divine…” Hannibal’s warm hands run along the side of Nigel’s body, up the thighs, feeling the jutting hipbones and all the way up to his chest. “Ahh… fuck..” Nigel’s body arches like a bow when he feels Hannibal’s smoldering body press against his chilled one. His heavily hooded eyes regard his brother with sultry gaze as he yearns to pulls Hannibal close. “Fuck, I fucking missed you so much. Two long fucking days without you.” A shuddering groan slipping out as his body emits an aura of heated steam rising from his body, he nuzzles his cheek against Hannibal’s neck, scenting that familiar and comforting heady and musky scent. 

Wrapping his legs over Hannibal’s middle, he lifts himself and peppers kisses all over Hannibal's face. Hannibal faintly smiles and strokes his already hard cock, letting his younger brother bask him with affection he knows is only directed at him. Who would ever think his violent and brutal brother who was a cold-hearted killer on his own would be this loving and soft? It was same for Hannibal, too. The veil he had always put around with his patients, colleagues and acquaintances crumbled down when he was with Nigel. Lining his weeping head against Nigel’s tight entrance, he begins to push through, the exquisite friction upon his cock as Nigel’s tightness clenches around him. “Ah… ahh… fuck..” Nigel’s glutes squeezing hard as he immediately feels Hannibal’s thick cock fill him to the fullest, he clutches his arm tightly around his brother’s broad back. Hannibal begins to move his hips, thrusting his curved length slowly and deeply. 

The rain still pouring down outside and the air inside the car stifling as sound of their groaning and their carnal passion clashing together rhythmically, their statuesque bodies concurrently move in unison. Nigel’s ankles crossed around Hannibal’s ass crack as he pulls his older twin closer, Hannibal’s piston increases, which results in Nigel’s groan to be more wanton and frantic. “Ahh… fuck.. ummph..” His shoulders lurching as he clenches his eyes shut, his walls begins to flutter and squeeze hard around Hannibal’s erection. Hannibal growls lowly, a rumbling groan emitting as his chest hammers frantically against Nigel’s, which in return, thumps fast and resonates through his brain. 

His cock, which grinds against their lean abdomens, begins to spill precum all over their skin as his breathing escalates. Nigel’s neck arches as his lips part in ecstasy, his sweaty and wet body easily slides against the leather cushion. “You feel… so good, Nigel… Umph…” Hannibal faintly groans as he mutters against his brother’s ear. Nigel’s arm circles around Hannibal’s neck as a rapturous orgasm is imminent. “Ahh.. fuck…. Hannibal, tell me, tell me you’re fucking close.” Lifting his hips as to match Hannibal’s more relentless thrusts as they both breathlessly puffs warm air against each other’s necks, Nigel cums first, spewing dense ropes all over his chest and stomach. His legs lax, his curled up toes loosening up as they limply fall on the side of the backseat. 

Hannibal almost simultaneously cums inside Nigel’s heat, surging as he spurts deep inside his brother. Their sweaty and glistening bodies pressed together, their heartbeats beats in same rhythm as both brothers stroke each other’s damp hair. Nigel’s head rolls as his eyes close, exhaustion finally claiming him. “T-there is something inside the compartment. I got something for you while I was near Fifth Avenue.” His chest slowly contracts as his drifts away.

Hannibal puts his clothes on and walks over to crashed bike, getting Nigel’s possessions from the compartment on the back of the bike. Along with a rumpled leather jacket and his brother’s small suitcase, he finds a small black box with a silver ribbon wrapped around it. Hannibal finds a Bvlgari Diagono Chronograph watch sitting inside the box, the one he had been eyeing on for so long. Speechless, he walks over to the car with tear rising up inside his dark maroon pupils only to find Nigel sprawled over, half of his body hanging off of the seat, slumbering with his head rolled against his shoulder. A fat tear rolling off Hannibal’s cheek as he covers his brother with the blanket inside the car compartment, he lowers himself against Nigel’s sleeping body and strokes his younger brother’s damp ashen locks away from his face. “God, Nigel, I love you so much. You really are so considerate.” His soft and warm lips press against Nigel’s glowing cheek, and he stirs, curling his legs up on the seat as he sleeps, until Hannibal pulls the Bentley in front of their house.


	21. A Birthday Surprise

Nigel had been pondering about what to get for his brother on their birthday. Hannibal was affluent, could get anything he wanted with his sum of money that he earned from work. His hourly rate were among the top, as he was the most referred psychiatrist of all in Baltimore. No, in the United States. Many high-profile cases ended up with his brother’s and as much as Nigel wanted to get something more substantial and expensive, there was no way he could afford the things Hannibal had wanted. He had been looking into his brother’s iPad; Omega watch, suits that cost more than his Ducati motorcycle and a wool coat that cost more than three fucking grand. His leather jacket didn’t even cost a quarter of that. 

Then, he thinks of something. In Baltimore, there is a famous cake store that specialize in customized cake called ‘Charm City Cakes’ and he had ordered a tall, life-sized three-tier cake with their names on it, with the figures playing strip poker on the top of the cake. The design was simple enough and Nigel was sure that his brother would like it. Underneath the cake, he’d hide, all leather-clad, in front of Hannibal’s office during the lunch hours. 

Hannibal’s auditory sense was exceptional, just like his sense of smell had been. His brother would definitely know his presence with the bike’s revving engine sound and the smell of fuel and fume. He avoids to smoke, because he was definitely sure his brother would catch the lingering scent permeated on his shirt. Parking his bike about a block away from his brother’s office, he changes his clothes inside one of the stores’ restroom and gets everything ready. He was sure Hannibal had been talking with his patient and once he was sure the patient exited through the other side of the office, he instructed the delivery man to ring the bell while he hid under the table, which was covered with the tablecloth. 

Hannibal had opened his jacket button and as soon as he had seen the patient leave, walked gracefully over to the entrance. Watching the cake being delivered, his shoulder slightly shrugs upwards. Genuinely surprised, but he doesn’t show it yet. “Hm, Hannibal & Nigel Lecter, happy-fucking-49th birthday.” He cannot help, but to chuckle out loud when he figures what those two figures - themselves - are doing on the top of the cake. What it seems like Hannibal is almost naked, down to his boxer briefs and Nigel is naked on top. The amount of detail - how Hannibal’s clothes were neatly folded besides him and Nigel’s had been flung all over the place, over on the couch and over his head by where Hannibal is sitting. Sometimes Nigel was so thoughtful and considerate and so characteristic of himself. Subtlety wasn’t Nigel’s forte. 

Wheeling the movable table inside the office, Hannibal inspects the cake from different angle and an arm stretches out from under the table. Nigel’s arm. He had somewhat expected it, but still flabbergasted, he withdraws a bit from the cake. Nigel crawls out from the table, his skin flushed as beads of sweat roll down his temple and forehead. He is completely dressed in leather. Skin-tight black pants, very thin gray t-shirt and in his dark brown leather jacket with whip in his hand. “Ta-da, a fucking surprise.” Immediately taking off his jacket and hurling it over on the armchair, he walks with his characteristic swagger. 

Hannibal quietly locks the office door and cancels all of the afternoon’s appointments. His clothes flying all over the place as Nigel removes the flap down his pants to reveal his already hard cock, Hannibal kneels in front of his brother and licks his lips. “God, Nigel, whatever you are about to do, I am ready.” His own cock throbs as the veinous cock weeps precum and smears all over his kneeled thighs. Nigel’s own cock is fully hard, viscous liquid beading around the slit. “On all fours, Hannibal. I am going to mark you and then eat your fucking body out with the cake.”


	22. Nigel's Brutal Prank

Nigel had the most wicked and cruel idea to prank his dear and poor brother. And for this to be successfully work, he needed the best actor. Calling out one of his most trusted associate, Nigel had instructed the man to call Hannibal and tell him that Nigel was pronounced dead at the scene, their club. He had already killed someone inside the club, very similar build and height as him. The hair color could be easily changed to match his. And he could replace the dead man’s clothes with his own. Then, the associate would stay with Hannibal and act. James, Nigel’s associate, was very good at coaxing and feigning emotions, so it’d be a piece of cake to fool Hannibal. 

All Nigel had to do was to lay low, wander around the neighborhood and think about how to surprise his brother for good. James calls Hannibal and he puts on the best act possible. Hannibal had been having a session with a patient when he gets the call. First, knowing it is from Nigel, he ignores it, thinking it’s one of those teasing calls of his younger twin’s dirty words or something of that sorts. But calls relentless come through and Hannibal excuses himself to answer the call. Letting out a long sigh, expecting his brother’s usual low and sultry voice, he is utterly surprised to hear a voice that he is unfamiliar with. “Who- who is this?” His maroon pupils blow up wide. “Wh-where is he now? Oh my fu- okay, I’ll be right there.” Hannibal can feel his heartbeat immediately climb up through the roof. “Sorry, Adam, I need to excuse myself, family emergency. I will see you next time - or I can call you later to set another appoint- oh god… I’m sorry, I need to go now.” 

Quickly escorting Adam out and grabbing his Bentley keys, Hannibal quickly skids and halts his car in front of Nigel’s club. “Whe-where is James? Are you James? Where is he?” His calm and stoic composure totally crumbled, his fingers twitch and he tremors with fear. His brother, gunshot wound to the chest. James had told him that the bullet had been straight through-and-through to Nigel’s heart. His eyes fluttered, streams of tears threatened to fall. James leads Hannibal to the back door, where Nigel had been supposedly shot. He definitely sees the blood pooled on the ground, unmistakably, his brother had shed significant amount of blood. He sees the mark where his brother would’ve laid down. Collapsed on the ground in a heap. A stream of tears fall down onto still wet and warm crimson. His hand goes over the blood and where Nigel would’ve been. 

Nigel is outside, getting something for Hannibal and he watches the whole thing through his iPhone, which had been hooked with the CCTV that is connected through by wireless internet. Watching his brother completely break down is devastating. He had planned it more, but he can’t bear to watch it anymore. Changing his clothes and waiting behind Hannibal’s back seat, he watches Hannibal come out of the heavy metal door, his brother’s hands over his face, his impeccably gelled hair all mussed up, tear stains all over his face and still bathing in tears.

A low and long exhale followed by a dry lump swallow, Nigel gets out of Bentley’s back seat, meticulously dressed in what he abhorred - in Hannibal’s three-piece suit. The windowpane plaid that he actually liked. He had wanted to surprise his brother in attending the opera with him, followed by dining in an upscale French restaurant. He always had declined it, but he wanted to give it a try for his brother. “Hannibal.” Nigel quietly mutters. Hannibal’s eyes turn to Nigel’s direction and a myriad of emotions cross his face. “What the fu- Nigel! What - What is this?” He literally pounces at his younger twin and presses his body tightly. The bear hug continues and Hannibal’s hand lands on Nigel’s chest. “Have you got any idea how fucking scared I was? The thought of losing you? Don’t ever fucking pull a prank with it!” Hannibal yells out and pushes Nigel off. “You look good, by the way.” Nigel reciprocates the tight embrace and rubs his thumb over Hannibal’s still tear-flowing cheek. “I wanted to surprise you, of course I am not fucking dying without you going with me. Remember, ‘til death do us fucking part. We came into the world together, we fucking exit it together as well.” Grabbing both of Hannibal’s damp cheeks, Nigel latches his full lips hard, his eyes fluttering shut.


	23. Hannibal Giving a Shoulder Massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whisper in His Ears preview (where Nigel wakes up from coma)

Hannibal always wakes up early. It had been a week since Nigel had come home from the hospital after waking up from the coma and it is one of the first things he had noticed. He couldn’t hide the surprise how ostentatious and grand Hannibal’s mansion looked. And he lives here alone? That was way too over the top. All the expensive furniture and artworks hanging on the wall. His three-piece suits. Why did he like plaid suits and paisley ties? They looked awful. He wonders if he had worn the same things like his so-called brother did. 

He had been slightly aroused. Since waking up from the coma, his sleep patterns were messed up. He’d have much lighter sleep and he would get very sensitive to sound. He would always here the birds chirp in the mornings around the same time, then whenever he would go back to his fitful sleep, he would hear Hannibal’s soft footsteps descending the stairs. His small room was right by the stairs, so he would always hear the other’s movements. And the other thing was he wasn’t himself yet, of course he had memory impairment, but besides that, he was more tired than usual. Still not used to eating regular food like he had been doing, maybe his thinner physique caused that. His high metabolism significantly gone down, he felt more exhausted. Hannibal had insisted that they take a walk to get more acquainted with the neighborhood and even an hour of walking was dragging him down. 

About to doze off again, he feels Hannibal’s strong and broad hand on his shoulders. Immediately arousing, his head falls and rolls against the pillow. A faint groan slips out of his parted lips. “Ahh… t-that feels good.” Hannibal’s expert fingers ease the knots around his neck and shoulder blade. He was still adjusting to his body’s movement. A year of being stuck to the bed had taken a toll on his muscles. “I remember you telling me you used to be a medical doctor. Maybe that is why I am improving significantly faster than most people who had been released out of coma.” His back slightly arches under Hannibal’s ministration. 

More wanton groaning and contented sigh emitting his lips as he turns to his stomach, Nigel drags Hannibal’s arm and places down on the dip of his back. “I’d definitely want more than a fucking shoulder massage if you continue like that.” A faint, but definitely there smirk plasters on his visage, his usual characteristic smugness returning as he turns his face to the side. His bedhead literally making a halo on the bed as a strip of sunlight widens above his head, the bright ray soon basks their naked bodies as they entwine, about twenty minutes later.


	24. A Devastating Car Accident

All Nigel remembers is sitting inside the passenger seat of Hannibal’s Bentley on their way back from the charity event his brother had managed to drag him to. Despite he didn’t like the opera, or better, didn’t know what the fuck was going on, because he hadn’t known the language nor he had grasped the idea of why Hannibal had been crying hearing the soprano singing for who the fuck knows how long, he was nevertheless glad it was over. He only had few shots of vintage bourbon there and Hannibal only had two glasses of Chianti. Listening to classical rock, although they had bickered between listening classical music and hard cock, they had found the middle ground and had settled on listening to it and all of a sudden, the car violently spins around as a truck incoming from the opposite side had hit the driver’s side. Oh fuck… Hannibal!

Thank fuck for both as they are wearing the seat belt, but still, the abrupt shake of the car and the clamorous noise rings as their bodies clatter against the side of the car. Hannibal’s body violently shakes against the dashboard as his body lurches. Nigel’s head clashes against the window and he bleeds from the temple. The car goes over the guardrail and descends about fifty feet below the river, the windshield immediately shatters and they desperately try to undo the seat belts before the car sinks further down the dark and murky river of the night. 

Hannibal’s side is bruised badly due to the initial impact of the crash and his consciousness falters, as his arms lose its strength. Nigel can see his blood slowly seep out and rise against the rippling and cold water like a smoke coming out of a chimney. Breaking the surface of the water as he gasps to breath, he immediately yells for his brother. “Hannibal!! Fuck…” Frantically looking around and not seeing his brother anywhere, he mutters more curses under his breath and dives underwater. Holding his breath and opening his eyes inside the shadowy water, he sees the car slowly sink along with his brother, his arms not completely free from the seat belt and his leg is stuck against the steering wheel. Hannibal’s dark hair moving in undulating shape as his eyes remain closed. Trails of blood pouring out of his brother’s side. With a purse of lips and as some bubbles break through the surface, he dives under Hannibal’s limp body and wraps his arm around his brother’s neck, pulling him up the surface. His head begins to throb as acute pain shoots through the side of his skull. He is sure he is going to have a concussion. 

His own consciousness hanging in a balance and Hannibal’s limp body too heavy against his trembling arm, Nigel manages to pull both of their bodies against more shallower water. “Hannibal, fuck, wake up!” He slaps his brother’s cheek. No response. Hannibal’s head limply rolls against the shoulder as Nigel continues to to administer chest compression. Five times, no pulse. Five more stronger compression, still no response. 

“Fuck, Hannibal, come back to me.” Hannibal’s side still spills blood onto the wet sand and gravels and soaks into drenched tux. Immediately removing his brother’s jacket and shirt, he rolls his sleeves up and pushes hard into Hannibal’s chest, doing about hundred pushes in a minute. His parted lips groan out as more blood pours out of his temple. “Ahhh….ahh!!” His heart feels like it’s going to burst, if his brother dies, then he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to witness it. His view veiling as he begins to tear up, he locks his lips hard against Hannibal’s and blows air. Watching the chest expand, he begins to continue more chest compression. Finally, Hannibal’s head rolls to the other side and water pours out from his nostrils and mouth. Nigel collapses limply against Hannibal’s open chest, the blood permeating through his brother’s skin as his eyes flutter close. His chest hammering frantically as he strokes Hannibal’s cheek. “Thank fuck… You-you’re alive.”


	25. Growing Old with the Girls

When Nigel and Hannibal had left their house in a panic with Hannibal’s water breaking, there were only them twins. Now after a week of being inside the hospital, when they came back to the house, there were four Lecters. Anabelle and Nigella. Anabelle had light dirty blonde hair and maroon eyes, while Nigella had Hannibal’s dark hair and hazel eyes that were already heavily lidded. They didn’t know the gender yet. Female alphas were rare, but Nigel hoped one of them would be, perhaps time will tell. Hannibal had been resilient. Going through long hours of labor, he was surely in an excruciating pain. Nigel worked hard those hours and had stayed with his omega whenever he could. The past week had been hard for both of them, but their efforts were worth it. The twin girls were healthy and Hannibal had recovered nicely. 

Helping Hannibal to get in and holding each girl in their chests, Nigel kisses Hannibal’s lips, a dreamy smile as his hair sticks out in places. He had been arduously working. During the day, he’d stay with Hannibal as he recovered. Hannibal had wanted to stay at home as soon as he delivered the baby, but considering Hannibal’s age and the complications that can follow, Nigel had been adamant about his omega staying a bit longer than usual. Only taking naps here and there before he went to work during the night, sleeping on the cot of slouched by the edge of the bed wasn’t an ideal environment for Nigel to rest. Of course, Hannibal’s body had gone through lot of strain as he just gave a birth to twins. As they had been when they were born to this earth, Anabelle had only been three minutes older than Nigella.

The time passed like a film reel and the girls grow up fast. Although they are only five years old, the characteristic of the young twin girls take after their daddy and papa. Anabelle is much more like Hannibal. Dressed in Chanel and other expensive designer clothes, her demeanor is much more quiet and calm. Nigella on the other hand, does not like to wear skirts and she is more of an active one. Dresses in jeans and boy shirts, her hair almost always in messy ponytail. “Gimme that, that’s fucking mine!” Nigella yells at Nigella, who had been chasing Anabelle with a huge dildo in her hand. “Gella!! That’s not a goddamn lollipop you can lick, that’s off the fucking limits!” His voice bellows through the whole first floor as he stomps down the stairs, snatching the big dildo Hannibal had been using when he was away on the business trip. “Hannibal, you have to keep those fucking things away from those girls, I don’t want them licking anything remotely close to that until they’re….. thirty.” 

The only thing Hannibal does as he writes the scholarly article on evolutionary psychology is to roll his eyes and take the dildo, throwing it inside his ‘special’ black box and locking it inside the draw with the password.


	26. Twins at the Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of preview for Whisper in His Ear thread.

Nigel wasn’t too crazy about the idea of going to the fair the first time, in his muddled brain, he hadn’t been to one ever and unbeknownst to Hannibal, he feared heights. The rollercoasters were fine. he could deal with the wooden rollercoaster they had and as long as he had imagined it as if he was on his motorcycle, the thrill and the accelerated speed helped to get his mind off from having a panic attack. All he had to do was to think of himself on the road, feet on the bike and speeding through the traffic. What he loved the best were those bumper cars. Grinning widely and laughing like a maniac, he tore through all the cars, bumping and crashing all the other cars as he frantically drove. Riding it five times in a row after Hannibal had only ridden it twice, he had to involuntarily leave the ride, because no one wanted to ride with him. He roamed around like a crazed zealot and the ride operator had taken notice.

“I fucking loved that particular ride, Hannibal, why wouldn’t that fucking bastard wouldn’t let me in?” He grumbles as he gets out and Hannibal gently chides him. “You were tearing every car and people obviously watched you crash and bumping like an excited kid. Of course no one would ever think to ride. I think a guy even complained of neckache.” Hannibal wraps his arm around Nigel’s waist and turns his brother’s face, which is turned back to the ride. “No beating up that operator guy.” He tugs his arm tightly. “I’m going to beat that fucking sorry ass if I had the time!” He grinds his teeth as he reluctantly steps away from the ride. 

After having Reuben sandwiches and few glasses of draft beer for an early dinner, the twins headed to the last ride of the evening. After that, they wanted to head to where all the games were, Nigel had planned to win something for his brother. “I’ll fucking get the huge tiger for you, it’s fitting. And I want that penguin with the gun. Very suitable for gun-totting gangster, isn’t it?” Smirking, he holds Hannibal’s hand as his brother leads to the ride. “This will be so romantic, Nigel. I hope you would like it.” Looking at the ride with a big grin plastered on his face, his face halts and he can feel a nervous sweat almost immediately form and trickle down his spine. The ride looks harmless enough, but this was by far, the highest ride in the fair. Situated on the high hill, Nigel was sure that he could see the Eiffel Tower afar. Hannibal was very excited, wanting to show his brother how their fair-going experience had been like and the entire cityscape would look spectacular inside the ferris wheel. 

Nigel reluctantly gets inside as his brother opens the door for him. With both of them inside, the ride begins to make its way up the top. He can already feel a slight goosebumps against his arms. Hannibal immediately notices something off and holds his brother’s shoulder. “Are you okay? You don’t look so hot.” He strokes his broad hand along the back of his brother. “How many fucking times is this supposed to rotate?” He turns towards Hannibal and presses his thigh close against his brother’s. “At least five times, if I remember correctly from the last times we’ve been here.” Hannibal reassures and holds Nigel’s hand. “I know it may be uncomfortable for you, but we can do it together.” 

The compartment of the ferris wheel they’re in reaches all the way to the top and Nigel solely focuses on Hannibal’s face. He cannot bear to look outside, as he might have an onset of panic attack. The sun just had begun to set and the cloudless sky is painted with shades of crimson and vermillion. Countless dots of sparkling and glowing yellow and orange flecks begins to adorn the ground as the streetlights light up. Hannibal wraps both of his hands on Nigel’s slender waist. “I didn’t know you had acrophobia. Did you hide it from me all those years?” Remembering that Nigel had been okay with most of the rides, he figures something might have happened after they broke up that could’ve caused the trauma. “Just focus on me, you don’t have to look outside.” He smiles and reassures his brother. 

Then, with a clinking sound, the ferris wheel stops moving and the cubicle stops and shakes a little to the side. Nigel begins to ramble incoherently, strings of fucks and mumblings coming out as his hazel eyes grow wide. “I think I’m just gonna kiss you and not look at anything else, this is fucked up. At least I have you with me.” Nigel wraps both of his arms over Hannibal’s neck and molds his lips hard against his brother’s. Hannibal merely presses his lips tighter, inching closer to his brother and his arm travels down to cup Nigel’s narrow hipbone. “If we’re stuck here for a good while, I would’ve made you to ride my cock, but we are moving again.” Hannibal parts from the intense kiss and smirks. “Hey, that’s my fucking thing. I might not remember much, but you’ve always said that you always liked my characteristic smirk.” Straddling his brother’s lap, he leans against Hannibal’s hard body and holds his brother’s cheeks. “I fucking love you, Hannibal. God, all the things I have forgotten, this will never change.”


	27. Twins Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from Chapters 19 & 20.

Pulling the Bentley and turning off the engine, the rain is still upon him as Hannibal gets out of the driver’s seat. Not caring one bit about his wool coat getting soaked wet, he retrieves all of Nigel’s possessions and runs his fingertips against the small black box inside his pocket. Walking over to find Nigel still soundly asleep, but he notices that the younger twin is trembling as the autumn rain seems to have done some damage upon the body. Lifting the blanket and appreciating the sight below him for a while, he runs his warm and broad hand against Nigel’s muscular thigh and narrow waist before lifting his brother up. Having lifted so many dead weights over his shoulder, carrying his brother upstairs isn’t too much of an arduous task. Nigel slightly stirs as he feels the rain soak his backside and his curtaining hair, but nevertheless remains in deep slumber. Hannibal grunts a bit, as he lifts the small suitcase in one hand, while his other arm wrap around Nigel’s ass. 

Immediately putting his brother up against the edge of the bathtub as he straightly heads to the ensuite bathroom, Hannibal begins to strip himself and runs steamy water inside the spacious tub. He hears a roaring thunder in the distance and knows that the rain will last throughout the night. Windows heavily thumping with the pouring rain. Dropping the sandalwood bomb inside the tub, he gently puts Nigel inside the tub and gets behind his brother. “Mmm…” Nigel arouses a bit as he feels Hannibal’s arm stroke his chest and begins to work the knot along his tense neck and shoulder. “Shhh… Just relax and sleep, I will take care of you.” His skillful and deft fingers continue to work Nigel’s broad back as Hannibal feels his brother’s slow and warm breaths against his neck. 

Nuzzling against Nigel’s wet ashen hair, Hannibal brushes his little brother’s hair off from the other’s pronounced cheekbone. Grabbing his brother’s arm that gingerly lay against his abdomen, he strokes Nigel’s arm and back, which has stopped shivering as the steam envelops them. He can smell the sandalwood dominating the olfactory sense as the bathroom permeates with the scent. Nigel’s naturally musky and heady scent, along with a faint scent of smoke and whiskey lingers against his nostrils as Hannibal buries his nose against the crook of his brother’s neck. Hannibal stays inside the tub for a good while, getting the washcloth and covering both of them with soft suds from the same scented soap. He almost drifts off, immersing himself in Nigel’s warmth and weight, strong and slow thump of the other’s heartbeat lures him almost to sleep. “Don’t fall asleep… I don’t want us to turn into a fucking bloated blowfish.” Nigel’s voice is thick and husky, his eyes still gently shut. As his fingertips scratch his brother’s chest as he runs his hand between the chest fluff. 

Clearing his throat and swallowing, Nigel moves like a serpent, coiling his body against Hannibal’s as he softly kisses his brother. Hannibal softly chuckles and returns the kiss, humming as he straightens more upward. Quickly wiping themselves clean as they move things to their bed, their statuesque bodies conjoin and move in unison once again, they move in rippling waves as Hannibal’s thrusts slowly picks up speed, driving his length deep and rapidly. His curved erection kissing Nigel’s sweet spots, all Nigel concentrates is their synchronized, frantic hammering of hearts and the blissful fullness as his back arches underneath his brother. 

After Hannibal’s essence percolates through Nigel as their mingling scents pervade the ensuite bedroom, Hannibal kisses his brother goodnight and parts from him. Before Nigel gets pulled under once again, he feels his brother’s dense and warm cum spill along with his slick against his thigh as he turns to the side. Tasting his brother’s cum on his stomach and wiping himself and the other clean, Hannibal walks out for a moment to place a call. “Hello? This is Hannibal Lecter, who placed a custom order, yes, do me a favor and bring the bike over early in the morning. Yes, earlier the better. Please do send me a picture so I can look at it before I set everything up. I appreciate it.” Hanging up as he strides back to the bed, he turns all of the lights and lays beside his sleeping brother. Soon, he gets the picture of the bike with a soft ring on his iPhone. Feeling his brother’s arm snaking under his neck, Nigel’s chest lifts a bit as a guttural hum slips out. Pulling his brother’s head to block the light from reaching Nigel’s face as he feels the other’s arm drape across his waist, Hannibal checks the bike and smiles, finding everything to be perfect. “Oh, you’ll love what I have gotten you as a surprise gift.” He whispers, glances at the small box on the lightstand and smiles before slowly falling asleep, his arm gently tugging Nigel closer to him as their bodies once again entangles.


	28. Twins Spend Time during Blizzard

The twins had been finally sleeping on the same bed as Nigel had complained of his room being cold. Even though he was buried under two heavy blankets, his still lean and lithe body had difficulties of overcoming the cold. At first, he was still reluctant about sleeping on Hannibal’s bed, as he figured the other enjoyed his solitude and he was still fighting with his own emotions, but as soon as his brother had said yes with enthusiasm, he appreciated it very much. He had been sleeping like usual, his blanket pulled over up to his neck and wearing one of Hannibal’s thick sweater and pajama pants. Hannibal had wrapped his arm around Nigel’s waist and spooned him from behind, offering his warmth. Nigel had been feeling blue, as his dreams were filled with him being soaked and sinking inside cold and murky water. 

As usual, Hannibal had been awake early after their usual nap in the afternoon and the first thing he noticed was the heavy snow fallen on the ground. He figured there would be at least two feet of snow, more fresh snow still falling down as white painted in stripes. His arm still draped over Nigel’s lean middle, Hannibal gently presses his body against his brother’s back, which lifts softly with each breath. A soft smile radiating from his face as Hannibal watches his brother sleep, he wistfully thinks and decides to cook a simple French onion soup and vin chaud. Mulled wine always reminded Hannibal of home, the smell of cinnamon and cardamom had filled their small Paris apartment during Christmas and the season was rolling around soon. He already had ciabatta bread that could be sliced in chunks to go on the top of the soup and he starts take the ingredients out to make them come to room temperature. Gruyere cheese, butte, wine, onions and meat broth that he always had in stock. 

Missing his brother’s warmth and feeling the cold air that surrounds him, Nigel soon arouses and wraps one of the thick blanket around him. His hair all mussed up, he wipes his eyes with the side of his hand and descends the stairs. Finding Hannibal in his zone, making purposeful movements as he stirs the soup and chops up the loaf of bread. “Smells good.” Nigel glances at the simmering soup and vin chaud. Sliding the pan inside the oven to toast the cubes of ciabatta bread, Hannibal turns around, his lips curling up in a soft smile and nods. “Why don’t you sit down and get comfortable. I will finish this up and join you.” Nigel’s still dreamy eyes gaze back blankly as he turns to lean against the kitchen table. “I’ll light the fucking fireplace. It’s cold as fuck.” He walks over to the fireplace as he clutches the blanket, dragging the edge of it as he walks. Grabbing the logs and lighting the fire, he puts the blanket on the floor and sits, leaning against the foot of the lounge. 

Ladling the soup inside the crocks and topping it with toasted ciabatta and cheese, Hannibal finishes the touches as he puts them back inside the broiler to melt the cheese, while he waits, he ladles the vin chaud inside the cup after straining the liquid and pours cognac. Taking the French onion soup and vin chaud on the tray, he watches Nigel pondering as the other stares at the fire crackling inside the pit. Wistful, with his lips slightly parted. “What have you been thinking?” Hannibal sits beside his brother and pats his thigh. The sparks, the smokes rising from the fire and the smell permeating through the cold air in the house reminds him of the word ‘home.’ “All of this, me being wrapped inside the blanket and the smell of comfort food and vin chaud reminds me of home. I dreamed about the smell of cinnamon and cardamom surround the air.” His long fingers curve around the glass, lifting it up and takes a small sip. 

“The soup should be nice and warm, why don’t you try a spoon?” Breaking the surface of the ciabatta bread and cheese layer, the gooey and thick liquid appears as Hannibal spoons the liquid up. He blows on the spoon and feeds his brother, who chuckles, but nevertheless takes it. “You don’t have to feed me, Hannibal.” Nigel grabs his own spoon and lifts up the tray, finding the crock too hot to the touch. “I don’t have to, I know. I want to though.” Hannibal continues to feed his brother as he digs into his own soup. Silently taking more spoonfuls of steamy liquid, Nigel simply drapes the blanket over Hannibal’s shoulder. “You should’ve fucking told me if you were cold too. It’s not like I haven’t fucking noticed you shudder. Your shirt is way too thin.” His hand brushes against Hannibal’s inner thigh. “And it’s not like I haven’t fucking noticed you pressing your body against mine.” A wicked smirk flashes on his face as he takes the spoon, digging into the crust on the top and feeds Hannibal in return. Hannibal’s face slightly turns blushed as he takes the hefty spoonfuls, a smile turning into a grin as he looks at Nigel’s glowing face, the fire warming the air around them gradually. 

“I still remember you showing me those drawings at the restaurant and now I get the sentiment. You loved and still love me so much to not fucking letting me go anywhere. I appreciate that, no matter what kind of fucking screwed up stuff happens, I know you’re gonna be with me no matter what.” Nigel wraps his arm around Hannibal’s neck, bringing his brother closer and locks his lips in a passionate kiss. Hannibal pulls Nigel by the loose sweater, brushing his broad hands against his brother’s narrow waist, he lifts the shirt over his head, tightly hugging him as he gently rocks his hips. “Would you like to recreate one of the drawings you did of me laying down on the lounge? You told me what happened on that particular day and I have been thinking to do that since I woke up.” Hannibal’s eyes crease as he genuinely smiles, knowing exactly what his brother is referring to.


	29. Hannibal's Nightmare

After their usual lovemaking, the twins had soundly fallen asleep, Nigel’s arm heavily draped against Hannibal’s lean waist, the other one under the arch of his brother’s neck. His warm and slow breaths landing against the nape of Hannibal’s neck, Hannibal’s head had been pressed against Nigel’s shoulder. Hannibal was used to having vivid dreams, but not the ones that would literally tear him apart.

They are in Baltimore, the same city they’re in now, but they are younger, in early twenties. Nigel had been working as a bouncer in the most popular club in the neighborhood and Hannibal had been immersed in studying for humanities class he had to take. Excelling in every subject he had taken, he had been the youngest to receive the prestigious scholarship from the school and other necessities that he needed, Nigel had been supporting him. Living in a small apartment near Johns Hopkins, Hannibal’s life was filled with classes, doing assignments, doing clinical work as an intern at the university hospital by night. When Nigel returned from work, Hannibal was gone to take classes. They barely saw each other, perhaps during the weekends when they had the time. It frustrated both twins as they missed spending times together. So they had devised a plan to set Saturdays aside for spending time with each other. Sometimes they’d casually drink, go shopping, go to an art museums, treat themselves to a nice dinner and it always followed with lovemaking, usually taking turns and in two rounds.

It was Friday afternoon when Hannibal had been inside one of his English requirement classes. The last class of the week before he went to the club his brother worked in. Guys had to pay the cover charge, but his brother always let him in for free and as soon as Nigel moved inside the bar to do some bartending, Hannibal had been relaxed, occasionally talking to his brother and enjoying the crowd there.

As soon as he got out of the glass, Hannibal called his brother. Who should be just waking up and getting ready before he goes to work in the evening. No answer. He figures Nigel might be taking a shower. The thing was that a perpetrator had broke inside as soon as Nigel had dressed up in his usual black suit with his handgun in hand. The man was a private investigator who had found out what Hannibal had been doing in Europe as Il Mostro and had mistakenly thought that his younger twin was the prime suspect and the one who had done it. Sadly, the technology hadn’t been developed enough to distinguish which twin had committed the crime, so the man had no idea who and surely didn’t know Hannibal had an identical twin. Nigel had been checking the cylindrical flute to check if the gold-capped handgun was loaded and the man had unknowingly shot him in the head. Even before Nigel had collapsed on the ground, he was dead in sanguine fluid of his. Blood and brain matter spraying all over the living room wall. All the man needed was Nigel’s fingerprint and the proof he was dead, so he had taken a fingerprint on a piece of tape and taken a picture of him in a heap.

When Hannibal had abruptly opened his eyes with a loud gasp, his immediate response was to feel Nigel’s heartbeat that strongly thumps under his palm. With fat tears pushing outside the brim of his eyes, his arms frantically wraps around Nigel’s body, the afterimage still stuck to him as the he bathes in tears. His glassy eyes doubling in size, he just wants to make sure and confirm that his brother is indeed with him in corporeality. Sensing the sudden movement, Nigel arouses with a sleepy groan and pulls Hannibal’s arm. Feeling the wetness on Hannibal’s skin, his eyes open and brows raise at the other, who is beginning to sob wantonly. “What the fuck, Hannibal? Did you dream about me getting injured again? I fucking assure you -” Hannibal presses his body tightly against his brother, bear hugging him with so much force that Nigel’s back arches sharply and rumbles a guttural grunt out. “Hey hey, fuck… I can’t fucking breath, Hannibal.” Watching Hannibal cry is something he isn’t very much used to. Of course, Hannibal was the most open and without any veil in front of him, but still, it had pained him to see his brother break down like that.

“Shh. I’ll hold you again until you sleep. You can touch and hear my heartbeat thump. I am not fucking going anywhere. We’re Lecters, Nigel Lecter doesn’t die so fucking easily or even if I get hurt, I’ll always bounce right back.” Hannibal’s crying slowly die out and he almost inaudibly whispers something inside Nigel’s ear. As soon as his older twin finishes speaking, Nigel chuckles and mischievously smirks. “Yeah, I still fucking remember those Saturdays. That’s what you fucking want, huh?” Holding both of Hannibal’s wrists and pinning him down, he begins to grind his hips against his brother’s. “Always fucking eager to pleasure my ‘baby’ brother.” He teasingly speaks and cocks his head, parting his brother’s legs open.


	30. Hannibal's Raging Craving

Nigel wakes up to find Hannibal’s stomach pressing up to his groin. About only a month before the delivery date, his omega had been pushing his protruding stomach against where Nigel had been sleeping and often times he had fallen on the floor, dodging the tummy. So he would always end up wherever he happened to be in the back of his brother, spooning him to avoid falling down. But as Hannibal stirred quite often to go to the bathroom or to require him to fetch something from the kitchen, he had to remain alert.

“You want what? A fucking cheeseburger, fries and a goddamn milkshake at three fucking am.” Hannibal had never even looked at McDonald's and always said the fast food joint was ‘an abomination that needs to disappear from the face of the earth.’ Raising his eyebrows, but already getting up to put his clothes on, he thanked God he didn’t believe for the fact that twenty-four hour one was only ten minutes away from their mansion. “And I am fucking assuming you want a large size combo.” Hannibal merely nods and rolls his fat tummy to the other side. After giving a rub and a kiss to his omega’s forehead and then lips, Nigel quickly strides downstairs to retrieve his wallet and keys. The winter cold air immediately turns his pronounced cheekbones pink and he shakes his head at the fact that his omega wants a fucking cold milkshake, instead of something warm. He figured he’d buy a bottle of whiskey on the way back, if the liquor store that he goes to is still open. If not, then he’d stop by an open bar and get one, albeit more expensive.

Hearing his own stomach growling for food, he buys a large double cheeseburger combo for Hannibal and a Big Mac for himself and stops by the bar and gets a bottle of Chivas Regal. Quickly driving back as the street is deserted with only one or two cars pass by once in a while, he quickly parks the bike and snatches the brown bags, ascending the stairs to find Hannibal still stirring with his stomach hanging off the edge of the bed, half-awake and half-sleep.

“Get your fucking pudgy ass up and eat while the fries are crisp. I especially told them to give you more, they know I am a fucking frequent customer around this time of the night.” He deftly tears the bag and spreads the fast food feast in front of his needy omega and helps him to get up. “Smells delicious.” Hannibal mumbles and bites into the burger as he watches his alpha squeeze ketchup onto the burger. “Smell of fresh oil and processed meat.” Smirking as he had never thought of organic-loving, health-conscious brother reduced to eating fast food at godawful hour in the night. “Who would’ve thought you would be the one to crave this fucking shit?” He gluttonously chews the burger down and feeds his omega the fries, giving his own portion up, as it was Hannibal’s favorite to eat these days. “The twin girls want it. Not me.” Hannibal rubs his belly and feels them kicking. “And you know what I want, I am sure.” Quickly eating the fries with a gusto, the omega pulls down his elastic sweatpants and reveals his glistening thighs, slick already having been spilled down all over the skin. Stuffing his mouth and chugging his Coke down and burping, Nigel gets behind Hannibal and discards the bag. Hannibal gets his milkshake and sips in small amounts, laying against the pillow and sticking his ass out as he continues to suck.

“You fucking are something, Hannibal.” As Nigel’s hard length easily makes inside Hannibal’s tight heat, the omega’s expression doesn’t even change as he was meant to take his brother’s length. “I want you to do this every single night until I deliver the twin girls.”


	31. Angst Angst nothing but Angst

All he feels is the emptiness, the bottomless pit as he discovers Hannibal’s ripped off clothes, his corpse barely covered and drenched in blood. The jugular vein had been severed and there are at least several gunshots on his torso. Punctured lungs, one through the heart as the wound pours out the blood, soaking their hardwood floor and painting it with crimson. It had been sitting there for so long and he wanted to kill himself for being disposed out of town for several meeting with his exclusive client. He had been planning a surprise getaway to Europe and had set aside the time - two weeks - for their excursion to France. He had heart the southern France was marvelous. It’d be the perfect location for them to leisurely enjoy them, relaxing on the beach, drinking wine with countless hours of lovemaking.

When he had met the nemesis who had killed his brother had been back to the very same house. There were still yellow crime tape all over the house, but the police hadn’t been able to pinpoint even who the suspect was. Wanting to take the matter to his own hands, he had been sneaking inside the crime scene for clues. It was probably directed at him, to get him to act on and it had marvelously succeeded. After the police had swiped all the things he could find, the flat had been abandoned, the whole building was up for demolition anyways and all the residents had moved out. His heart drops to the stomach when he spots the man, unmistakable demeanor and the man’s sadistic smirk is the telltale sign of the man being the assailant. 

His own eyes narrowing as his soft hazel orbs take on a menacing and stormy gaze, his body tremors with anger and fury. The rage in him radiating off of him almost like an aura. The man throws a devastating right jab and he almost dodges, his cheekbone barely gliding against the man’s knuckles. The assailant has about fifteen-twenty pounds on him and possibly an inch or two. And his gun only had a round or two inside and the time to draw the gun had been stripped away from him. The gold-capped handgun falls onto the ground when he evades and swings his leg over, wanting to bring the man down. 

The man goes down unceremoniously, but manages to drag Nigel along with him. A series of jabs sends Nigel’s face to violently turn shoulder to shoulder. Dribbling in own blood as he spats at the man, he uses all of his strength to fling the bigger man towards the full-length mirror, his arms straining and flexing as the shards of metal sends the man’s front all bloody, dripping with blood. 

Wiping his lips as they become tinged with crimson, he swallows and tastes the coppery tang. A lopsided smirk pulling the corner of his lips, more exchanges of punches and kicks continue. Obviously, the assailant had been as deft and talented at melee fighting. The floor painted with splashes and smears of their blood, the air thick and heavy with scent of their heady and musky sweat. The lower half of his face drenched with blood, Nigel lurches forward and grabs the sharp glass shard, the sharp edge digging into his palm. His own blood dripping onto the floor as he strikes several blows on the man’s defined chest, the assailant stumbles, but pins Nigel down for a pounding. The muscular and statuesque body pinning Nigel down with nowhere to go, one of his eyes swell up as a purple bruise covers it. His forehead busted open as well. Inching his foot and kicking the man on the scrotum, he quickly dashes for his gun on the floor and shoots the guy’s private part, a sharp and tearing scream upon him like a melodious music, although it is more close to being cacophonous. His grunts and heavy breathing and the man’s erratic screaming tears his ears. 

Ultimately, his gun finds the man’s head and the bullet exits through and through, leaving the man dead even before he collapses on the ledge of the window. before he does, Nigel kicks him over the edge, flinging the man over the window, sending him to descend three story down to crash against the car underneath. Without even looking down, he hears the devastating shattering of glass shards and the metal forced out of shape by the man’s heavy weight. What he hadn’t realized was before he had shot the man, he had pierced his heart with one of the longer fragment that had been dangling on the mirror and had thrown it on his chest. Nigel doesn’t even realize he was profusely bleeding and definitely going to die from exsanguination. His adrenaline and lust for blood had made him oblivious to his fatal injury. Stumbling and his bleary gaze on the tape around the bed where Hannibal had been found brutally murdered, he sits down on the large bloodstain that had his brother’s blood all over the floor as it continuously dripped. He can vividly picture it in front of his eyes. 

Checking the handgun’s cylinder and noticing there’s only one bullet left, without a thought and in an autopilot, he points the barrel of the gun on his forehead, smack dead in the middle. The trigger pulls and as sanguine and brain matter paints the opposite wall deep crimson in a unclear heart shape, his hazel orbs fade to black in an instant. The trigger still hooked around his finger and his palm that envelops it, his lifeless body limply falls over the edge of the bed, then sliding off to the floor with a heavy thud.


	32. Nigel's Bout of Doping

He had tried to quit snorting and smoking coke before. But he miserably failed and had started to catching up on getting high, even higher than before. As he gradually built up his tolerance again. Succumbing to the dope-fiend, addicts called it, Nigel was plummeting into a descent.

The first time he started snorting and smoking, it was shortly after he killed his father. As his father was a high-profile drug dealer and that’s one of the things that he picked up early on, he carried on his father’s business. At the tender age of sixteen, he entered the underground criminal and drug world of Bucharest. Then, bunch of shit and crap happened in his life. With a naive and good-natured thought of rekindling fraternal bond with Hannibal, he had gone to Paris, where his uncle and aunt were. They had been living in the streets until they had substantial money for them to rent a small apartment where they had spend intimate times together. Those times were the best.

Then, he came back to the shithole after their heartbreaking breakup, found himself in Bucharest and worked his ass off to become the notorious Drug Lord as he was referred as. With his series of injuries to mercilessly killing people who he didn’t find trustful and an ugly divorce of his wife Gabi, his life went from shit to hell. Other people had inflicted pain on others, like he did at the club when the opportunity presented, but mostly, it was on his own body.

Nigel fell into a deep depression and started to snort and smoke coke again after having been admitted to the psychiatric hospital for the substance abuse. As he got back from work with a hefty zip-lock full of pure cocaine, the snorting took a little while to get that high he was looking for, he rolled his own paper to make a smoke, and started to drag it. He leaned further into the sofa, enjoying the short and intense euphoric feeling that he had longed for. He chuckled contently, as he imagined how he had taken Hannibal for the first time. That was golden and he hallucinated it over and over again in his head as still pictures of them entwined and conjoined on their twin sized bed, pushed towards the window. Their bodies basking under the soft moonlight and the street light that was breaking through it. 

Only after twenty or so minutes, the high was subsiding and he was hallucinating and becoming furiously angry. The home was empty, dark and it was just him alone in the living room, but he was sure he saw someone else in the kitchen. Suddenly, he saw his father, undoing his belt from his ragged jeans. Nigel’s already dilated eyes flashed and they took a hostile glare. He repeatedly punched his father’s face until the image disappeared. His face and hands felt too hot from fury and anger. By the time he was done with hitting his father, his knuckles were all bloodied up and blood was dripping on the kitchen floor.

Nigel impassively walked to the couch, blood still dripping from his hands, and sat down to lit another smoke. That’s when he heard the doorknob turn, and saw Hannibal come inside with a brown bag full of groceries. Nigel just stares in front, his eyes not focused on anything. Of course, it wasn’t his twin brother, a mere creation in his memory of his older twin in his adolescent years. Always broader and a bit heavier, tanned and his skin glowed, whereas he was more lean and pale. Almost androgynous. 

Hannibal’s dark hair, wind-chafed and his face a bit nonchalant, strides towards him and distorts right in front of his face as if he was mocking him. “No, you’re not fucking real.” His bloodied hand throws punches right through his brother’s face as he dribbles blood from his face. He was actually throwing jabs and hooks on his own face. 

The last thing he feels before his body slides off from the couch is his warm sanguine dripping profusely from his broken nose and the gash on his defined cheekbone and the thumping of his heart. He could almost feel the neurons firing inside his brain as the drug took its full effect. Everything becomes blurry and the furniture and the house begins to shake and spin. He can even feel his nostrils drip blood as some crystals had cut into small veins inside his nose. Drenched in blood as his limp hand smears the crimson all over the side of his face and onto the collar of his white shirt, he spirals into a deep slumber with slitted open eyes.


	33. Omega Hannibal - Playing with His Hair

“I don’t feel so hot, Nigel.” Hannibal had been grimacing and his protruding belly had been aching. Over on the other side of the phone, the revving of the engine and Nigel’s slow and long exhale could be heard through the phone speaker. Obvious sign of him smoking while on route to home. 

“What the fuck is wrong now, Hannibal? I’m on my fucking way home with that fucking Indian butter curry you asked me to bring.” Inside the compartment, three portions of butter chicken sat and the delectable aroma permeates the air as he inhales. The smell making him ravenous and his appetite intensifying. “I’m only a few minutes away, why don’t you take a goddamn bath, I’ll join you as soon as I get there.” 

Hannibal hangs up with the kiss against his iPhone, urging his alpha to hurry. Already nude on his lower half as his heat nears, the slick completely soaks the duvet as he gets up with a grunt. “Oh god...” Propping his heavy stomach with an arm underneath it, he wobbles to the bathroom, filling up the bathtub with steamy water and dropping some aromatic oils. Lavender with a faint scent of vanilla. A bath bomb of same fragrance drops inside the water and it immediately dissipates and dissolves, a thick layer of foam covering the surface of the water. 

Immediately dunking inside the water as the steamy water envelops his aching and heavy body, Hannibal sighs and hears the engine’s roaring sound just outside. Nigel’s heavy footsteps against the staircase as the alpha loses his clothes, each layer thrown on the stairs as he appears nude in front of the bathroom door. 

“You’re just making me go fucking nuts. I could smell you even from the outside, your goddamn heat, why is it always so fucking intoxicating.” Nigel almost purrs in his low and slurry voice as he gently pushes his brother, getting behind his omega. His broad hand immediately reaches for the luscious dark hair, running his fingers against it and scratching the scalp with the fingertips. “What the fuck is wrong with you now? I can still feel the fucking slick running against my cock.” An arm looping around Hannibal’s chest, he pulls his brother flush against his chest. 

“A headache, it feels like it’s going to split my head in half.” Hannibal says, his visage slightly furrowing and his lips drooping. “Don’t fucking worry now, I’ll massage your head and you can relax, or would you prefer I stick my fucking cock inside you now?” Nuzzling against his omega’s neck, Nigel continues his ministration on Hannibal’s head, gently tugging the hair and mussing it up further. “I wonder how it’d look all standing up like a fucking Mohawk.” He muses as his hand run against the white foam. 

“That feels nice, but don’t put my hair into a Mohawk. Never mind, as long as you don’t take a picture, just get it over with.” Hannibal sinks deeper into the water, wanting to soak his stomach completely inside the water, but the tip of the mountainous stomach doesn’t submerge inside the water. “Come on, fucking lift your head so I can play more with it.” Nigel pulls Hannibal upward, turning on the faucet to cover Hannibal with more steamy water. 

Using both of his hands and straightening the hair upward, he chuckles amusingly, appreciating his work and turning Hannibal’s head. “You fucking look like a goddamn punk. Now I wonder how you’d look if you shaved the sides. All of it.” Making the gesture with his hand, his lips tilt into a smirk, more wider than his characteristic one. 

“Don’t even, Nigel. Not funny. Just massage me please.” Hannibal leans further into his alpha and overlaps a hand over Nigel’s hand. “Fine, I’m done playing with your fucking hair, meanwhile, why don’t you fucking sink against my fucking cock? Your goddamn scent and your fucking slick is driving me crazy.” Even under the warm water, Hannibal’s ample slick manages to coat his cock and the scent intensifies under the hot water. 

Stroking Hannibal’s stomach and feeling the twins kick, Nigel trails his lip across Hannibal’s neck and pecks kisses all over the warm skin, savoring the taste of his omega. “You taste so fucking delicious. I can’t wait to knot you and have you melt against me.”


	34. Lecterverse AU - Hannibal Gets Shot

“A fucking tux, Hannibal? That has to cost a fucking fortune!” Nigel rakes his long, shoulder length ashen blonde hair and looks up at his older brother as his mouth slacks. Another hand running the soft wool fabric of Hannibal’s tuxedo, he doesn’t even have to look at the price tag to know that they are personally tailored and expensive as fuck. Maybe more than a few grand, who knows. It looks and feels like it’s more expensive than the bike he used to own until he sold it. 

“Yes, and I already set up an appointment with my personal tailor this afternoon. We’ll go to the French bistro that I already made the reservation for and head there as soon as we fill our stomachs.” Hannibal puts the tux away inside the walk in closet and loops an arm around his brother’s slender waist. “And I want you to work out with me inside the private swimming pool that I go to. We could use some exercise and would like to teach you butterfly stroke. You told me you are really good at freestyle?” 

“That sounds good, but still, so fucking expensive, Hannibal!” Nigel sighs softly and wraps his arms around his brother’s more broader frame. “Don’t worry about how much it costs, Nigel. I can most definitely afford it and as long as you look absolutely gorgeous in it, no amount of money will ever match that.” Smiling tugging his cheeks, he pecks a soft kiss on his brother’s lips and begins to dress, a much more casual attire. His wool trousers and maroon sweater over his button down shirt. Nigel also puts on his clothes, his usual rugged jeans and loose sweater not too unlike Hannibal’s. A leather jacket goes over his thin frame. 

Putting on his overcoat, Hannibal takes Nigel downstairs and stops his younger brother by the front door. “I want you to cover your eyes until I say you can open your eyes.” With a bit of amused smirk, he covers Nigel’s eyes and as soon as he makes sure that they are covered, he opens the door and leads his younger brother out in front of the covered motorcycle. He already knew Nigel was saving some money to get himself a new bike and knowing that the work at the club had been grueling and tiring, he felt sympathy for his brother. It was definitely an expensive bike, but Nigel’s expression would be his reward. 

“Open your eyes, Nigel. I hope you like it.” Hannibal takes Nigel’s hand over where the seat would be. As soon as Nigel opens his eyes, his hazel eyes grow wide and liquid. “Oh my fucking god, this is..... What I fucking wanted. I was short of few thousand dollars.” It was a Vyrus motorcycle he wanted to buy since the new model came out. Tightly hugging Hannibal as he sheds tears of joy, he peppers kisses all over Hannibal’s face. “Fuck, thank you so fucking much, we should christen this right away.” Enthusiastic and thrilled, he immediately mounts on the bike and pats the back seat, inviting Hannibal to get on. 

Maneuvering the bike with ease, it feels like as if he had been riding this bike for months. Swiftly making into the French bistro as he follows Hannibal’s direction, Nigel parks the bike near the restaurant and they eat the food in serenity. Veal heart tartare and olive bruschetta for appetizer, filet mignon with mushroom sauce as entrees and closing the fulfilling meal with crepe caramel flambe, they savor every single dish. Of course, Nigel savors his own dessert as he sucks Hannibal off, savoring the other’s taste. 

“I’m sure you’re going to love what I have in store for you, much more suiting for your age. It’ll match your beautiful hazel orbs nicely.” Hannibal says as he ushers Nigel to the store. The store is quiet and Hannibal talks with the woman in her fifties, conversing in French and waits as the woman retreats to bring samples of fabric. 

Out of nowhere, the Lecters are ambushed by an armed thief who appears behind the back door of the tailor shop and points the knife against Nigel, who unfortunately stands closer towards the counter. He is not used to being threatened and although he had hurt people in his days on street and wasn’t a novice when it comes to exerting violence, he was nevertheless terrified. “Hannibal.” He mutters quietly, wondering if his brother would do something with his scalpel, as he knew his older brother always carried it. “Just wait.” His lips barely move as he mutters back. 

In his predatory mode as he pushes Nigel back, his long legs swing gracefully to knock the oblivious thief down, bringing him down on the ground. The man swings his bigger pocket knife, making Hannibal to back off and to lock his legs against the other man’s. The thief leverages his arm and turns his body sideways, twisting Hannibal’s leg. Now the man on top of Hannibal, Nigel immediately locks his arm around the thief, preventing him from using the knife on his brother. 

“Ahh! Fuck..” As the thief swings his arm, Nigel’s arm begins to bleed as the knife makes a deep cut. Hannibal’s face twitches and he immediately pounces on the man, taking the scalpel from the sleeves. With a few swings of his arm, the thief’s blood covers the surface of the velvety floor as the man abruptly stands up and makes his way out the door with a limping leg. 

“Now that’s taken care of, we should - “ With a huff in the air, the thief shoots Hannibal’s side with a revolver with a silencer attached and disappears to the back door. Falling over already bloodied carpet, his face is rather impassive as his eyes wrinkle up. Nigel immediately scurries down to hold his brother. “Fuck.. Shit. Stand up, I’m fucking taking you to the hospital.” Taking his sweater off, Nigel immediately gets down to wrap it around his brother’s torso to stop the bleeding. Draping Hannibal’s arm over his frame and taking one of the shirts from the rack to stop the bleeding as it continues to trail down the other’s body, he leads his older brother out and immediately takes his brother to Johns Hopkins Hospital in ER.


	35. Hannibal's Heat

[ text: dear brother ] I need you, Nigel, where are you?

[ text: dear brother] I think it’s starting earlier than it’s supposed to be!!

Hannibal’s on the bed, leaking profusely as the slick continues to soak the duvet. He feels almost dehydrated, but he knows he is not. He wonders if he will ever be, with the amount of slick pouring out of him. As soon as he had found out that he was pregnant, the intensity of his heat dramatically increased. Already covered in sweat and his cock standing up in the air, begging for his alpha to let him cum, Nigel had been disposed in a meeting with his clients, not too far away from their mansion.

[ text: bro ] Fuck, now I’m off, thank fuck. That was fucking boring and grueling as shit.

[ text: bro] I’ll be there in five, don’t fucking cum yet!

Nigel literally breaks every traffic rule and skids to pull his bike over the driveway in front of their house. He already smells Hannibal’s sweet scent heavy in the air around the house. “Your goddamn fucking heat…” He takes a deep inhale, relishing the overwhelming sweetness permeate the air much more densely as soon as he makes it inside the house by the foyer, hanging his leather jacket and scurrying upstairs to see his brother peeing inside the bathroom. 

“Finally, you know how much I wanted you inside me? I need you now, right now.” Hannibal begs as he bows down in front of Nigel, his legs parted, his tanned face already flushed red with arousal and his hair damp with layer of sweat. Nigel’s clothes fly in every direction as he strips, his cock slipping out, already hard as rock. “Bend over the fucking bed, I want your fucking ass poised upward as high as it goes.”

Hannibal does exactly what his alpha demands rather loudly, Nigel’s voice still ringing against his eardrum. His characteristically heavily accented and low voice almost like a feline cat roaring. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me, Hannibal.” His hand instantaneously soaks with transparent and dense liquid as he runs it between his omega’s thighs. Licking the fluid to savor the sweet nectarine taste of his twin, his broad hands knead Hannibal’s firm globes as he impales his thick length inside his brother’s heat. Every inch of muscle squeezing tightly as the length swiftly slides inside, more slick coats his shaft and drips down onto his heavy sacs. 

“Jesus fuck, Hannibal.” Hannibal’s spine dips as his ass lifts more up, his fingers clutching the pillow in front of him as his head rests deeply against it. “H-harder, Nigel, fuck… I need to cum so hard.” His lodged cock profusely leaking against the edge of the bed, he feels his already sensitive slit sting as he feels Nigel thrusting against his walls. Feeling the knot inflate as the alpha’s piston grows more relentlessly, the mattress shifts and shakes violently. Already drenched with sweat and tears pushing out against the corner of his clenched close eyes, the pain soon fades and intensifies into ardent pleasure as he begins to moan, taking Nigel’s fast and deep thrusts easily. Soon, he covers his slightly swollen abdomen and chest with his thick splatter of cum, the load heavier than usual. Almost concurrently, Nigel cums deep inside Hannibal, spurting and filling the omega’s heat. 

Pulling Hannibal’s tight waist and guiding both of their sweat and cum drenched bodies onto the mattress, Nigel breaths hard against the back of Hannibal’s neck, the scent of their lovemaking thick in the air. “You are fucking going to cover all of the bed, we’ll fucking swim in your slick.” His intense hazel orbs transfixed against Hannibal’s cock which still leaks dense cum onto the duvet, painting more with the fluid as it glides against the layer of slick, Nigel pushes his cock deeper as the knot fully swells, fucking behind the space as he tugs Hannibal flush with his front. An arm around Hannibal as Nigel pumps the cock further, wanting his omega to cum over and over again. “I stocked up your favorite Pho and Parmesan meatballs you liked when I cooked for you the last night.” Nigel says as he pecks kisses along the sweaty back of his omega.

“I’ll…. I’ll cook that heart tartare and sirloin steak you like, I’ve managed to just stock up the pantry and fridge before my heat came.” Of course, Hannibal is referring to the rude doctor who they killed together as the man insulted their incestuous relationship. “His heart will be fucking delectable. I want to cook that fucking motherfucker’s liver with the vegetables you had harvested in the garden, I’ll make the spicy stir-fry in the wok. It’s all I can fucking do to appreciate what you did.”


	36. "Do You Trust Me, Nigel?"

Nigel’s eyes unwavering against Hannibal’s stormy maroon ones, his gaze transfixes against Hannibal’s scalpel, which lays close against his throat. His adam’s apple bobs slowly up and down, swallowing dry as he backs against the wall behind him. Without his access to his pocket knife and gold-capped handgun, he wouldn’t fucking stand a chance against the better melee and close distance fighter his brother was. 

“What do you fucking want.” Nigel’s orbs shoots through his brother’s, feigning uninterested expression as his chin lifts, pressing his neck against the sharp edge of the blade. The cold metal pushes against the sensitive skin. 

“Lift your arms, both of them.” As soon as Nigel complies, Hannibal undoes his paisley tie from his neck and quickly ties both of his brother’s wrists, hooking the loop against the chain attached to the wall. The basement merely lets the smallest amount of light to break through and as the sun sets, the faint orange light breaches the wall, making Nigel’s naked and sun-kissed body to glow even more. Testing the tightness of the restraint, his face minutely twitches. 

Hannibal’s broad hand closes against Nigel’s neck, pressing firmly against his twin’s windpipe. “Do you trust me, Nigel.” His voice reduced to whisper, he licks a stripe along his brother’s neck, tasting the saltiness from the trickling beads of sweat. Nodding, Nigel’s eyes grow more sultry and his body begins to sweat profusely, a thin film already coating his torso as it glistens under Hannibal’s palm gliding across defined planes of his muscles. Nigel’s responsive body immediately reacts to the warm tongue gliding his tanned skin, his cock already hard as rock, beads of dense precum forming and dripping onto the floor. Hannibal’s clothed cock, also hard inside and tenting against the underwear, he grinds heavily against his younger twin, clashing his lips against the other as he savors the twin’s taste. His tongue relentlessly pushes and explores the mouth. Nigel’s chest heaves greatly as he stands on the balls of his feet, his heart thundering against his ribcage and drumming heavily against his brain and eardrum. It’s all he can focus on, the other’s pliant and wet lips and his own arousal surging and buzzing through his entire body.

Knocked out of his breath, he struggles to supply oxygen into his lungs. Hannibal’s hands constricting against his throat even further, his eyes continues to penetrate into Hannibal’s fierce maroon orbs, the flecks in his irises growing more darker as they reduce into slits. Nigel’s eyes slowly fluttering close as his mouth parts, his head rolls backwards as the airway slowly closes. Hannibal’s warm and fully clothed body tightly pressing against his aroused body, as his twin continues to rock and grind his hips, his slit profusely weeps precum down Hannibal’s wool trousers. 

As he slowly loses consciousness, his limp body leans heavily against his twin, while his vision fades into blackness as the last sensation he feels is the strong smell of his musk from his cum, heavily dripping against his thigh as the hot trickles of viscous liquid coating his groin and legs and Hannibal’s heady sweat and faint scent of cologne. As soon as Hannibal feels his younger twin slouch and unconscious, not breathing, he immediately lets go of his hand and cuts the restraint. Guiding Nigel down to the floor as he pumps air into the other’s lungs. Clearing the throat, he watches Nigel’s chest expand and fall, the sign that he’s going to rouse soon enough. 

“I’ve got this on video. You can watch it when you wake up. We’ll watch it together.” Hannibal’s lips brush against his and Nigel hears the words, Hannibal’s calm voice distant in his brain. His lips curve up as his cheek digs. A faint smirk adorns his lips as he kisses Hannibal.


	37. Whisper in His Ear (Whisper verse)

“Here you go, Nigel. Just like how I used to make it.” Hannibal brings the mulled wine, spiked with bourbon. The fragrant aroma of cinnamon and cardamom fills the air as the fire crackles inside the fireplace. The red and orange shades painting the walls and floor around them, Nigel pulls the blanket over Hannibal’s legs as the other sits on the floor. 

Nigel is in his loose pajama pants with tight t-shirt that barely covers his jutting hipbones. Hannibal is wearing his burgundy sweater with striped pajama pants, his broad shoulder flexing as he puts the tray with two mugs filled with vin chaud and selection of cheeses and bread. Nigel’s hazel orbs contain the fire inside as it sparkles and glows. Although he looks more pallid than usual and his body still too thin and lithe, at least his appetite is back and his muscles less atrophied. 

“I’m so glad you are healthy now, although I would have to fatten you up a bit with more meaty diet and you would definitely need more legumes and protein in your diet. I will make sure to stock some and make you some grilled steak and hearty pasta before I head out for work tomorrow.” Hannibal smiles and pecks a soft kiss against Nigel’s slender neck. Leaning against his brother’ Nigel’s choppy ashen hair brushes against his twin’s shoulder. “I might need a fucking haircut. Maybe after you get back from work tomorrow.” Nigel hums contentedly against Hannibal’s shoulder, inching closer and sitting on his twin’s lap. A bit of mischief flashing on his lips as he grabs a piece of baguette, putting a sharp cheddar on the crusty bread. 

“I dreamed about you feeding spoonfuls of cassoulet inside my mouth when we were young, did that really fucking happen or merely a dream.” Nigel was sure that it was one of the recollections he had been dreaming since two nights ago, when he came to live inside his brother’s house. “Yes, it was the day after I made love to you for the first time, you caught a horrible cold and couldn’t move a muscle. I was feeding you dinner when your fever broke.” Hannibal’s expression grows wistful as he reminiscences the day, a soft smile painted across his serene face. His eyes grow a bit glassy as his eyes reflect the warm flame radiating and providing warmth to the entire living room. 

Bringing the tray in front of him and setting the platter on Hannibal’s knee, Nigel sits on the other and begins to feed himself as well as his brother. “Well, if it makes me to recall more of those past memories, then I’d fucking enlighten in this, although I’ve never done this before.” A smile creeping across his face, he alternates to chewing and savoring the pungent taste of the cheese and the warm liquor that brings a sense of nostalgia. Soon, the food is forgotten as their lips lock in front of the fireplace, a long and sensual kiss continues until Hannibal asks his twin to make love to him. 

Hannibal lays on the lounge as he places his hands on Nigel’s defined hipbone, bringing his twin over on his body. It starts with Nigel on top of him, the thrusts slow and deep as their contrasting bodies entwine to unify, conjoined as one, just like how the things should be. Soon, the crackling of the fire is replaced by their rhythmic groans and their wet skin slapping against each other’s. Hannibal turns their position and rides Nigel’s cock until they both cum simultaneously, licking his own cum off of Nigel’s still pale and porcelain skin. He definitely needs more sun and needs a natural tan. A little over a year inside the hospital without too much light entering inside the ward had rendered his brother to look like a living corpse, and for some instance, he still does, lacking the musculature and the usual glow. 

Both of them breathless and sweaty, Hannibal collapses onto Nigel’s shoulder, panting in puffs as his legs become jelly, completely melting onto the other as two bodies sprawl on the narrow lounge. To Hannibal, the very picture of them now reminds him of the Paris one-room apartment where they had made love for a countless times. Perhaps this lounge can become their new spot. “I love you so much, Nigel. I’m so grateful that you’re with me. I didn’t let my hopes go. I’m glad I didn’t let it go.” His damp hair sticking onto Nigel’s shoulder, his arm loops around his twin’s slender waist. Nigel’s hand runs along Hannibal’s spine, stroking down until his fingers reach the dip of the spine, feeling each of the vertebrae as his twin’s muscles flex. 

As if he’s pulled by the familiar musk and heady scent of his brother, the scent of home, what he used to smell and will smell until ‘death do us fucking part,’ Hannibal slowly begins to succumb to sleep, feeling exhausted. He had been up since five in the morning, prepping the breakfast and surprising his twin with a surprise present, which they managed to christen. The revving of the motorcycle still rings against his eardrum as his hand stops stroking Nigel’s chest hair. 

“I fucking love you too, Hannibal.” Nigel whispers against his brother’s ear, just like his older twin had been when he was in a coma so many times, whispering continuously of their adolescent years to the younger twin’s ears, hoping his gentle words will make into Nigel’s brain. Pulling Hannibal over his body and feeling his cock slip out, he strokes his twin’s dark hair affectionately and joins his brother in sleep. “’Til death do us fucking part, nothing will separate us now.”

Hannibal dreams of the day of their birthday, tying his cock with the ribbon in order to surprise his twin. Nigel recalls the same day, watching his brother flushed in his cheek, seducing him as he had seduced his brother long ago.


	38. Nigel Falls Sick

“Ah…Ah…..Ah-choo!! Fuck…” 

A horrid coughing fit sending his brain to rock against his skull, it feels like his head is continuously hit by a gong. Swarm of bees buzzing inside his brain, Nigel’s eyes had been bloodshot long time ago, bleary and liquid as another forceful cough sends the damp rag to be thrown off for a thousandth time already. The cold cloth already gone lukewarm with his fever. His nose reddened from blowing his nose equally many times, his heavily lidded eyes close, but he cannot fall asleep. Hannibal continues to fitfully sleep, his twin’s sickness affecting his sleep. It had been already two days since Nigel succumbed to a viral fever. His brother wasn’t the type to easily get sick, but when he ever did, like this time, it was a bitch. Even intelligent and eloquent, the one with a doctorate degree and knowledgeable and resourceful, he lacked the perfect word. Already being a light sleeper, he had tended to his brother as best as he could. 

“Ahh… Fuck, get me that fucking ibuprofen and spiked vin chaud again. Fuck… I’m not gonna fucking fall asleep like this.” Another sudden cough sends his shoulder to lurch, wiping his nose and throwing it over inside the trash can right by the side of the bed. The can already full with the rumpled tissues. The nightstand already full with the empty cups and a pot of French onion soup Hannibal had cooked for his sick brother. 

“Nigel, ugh. I need to sleep, I have an early session tomorrow morning.” He feels sorry for his brother to have contacted a particularly horrid strand of flu virus, but he had done everything he could. He had massaged Nigel’s lymph nodes to escalate the function of immune system and to lessen the pressure of the sinuses. He had even carried his twin inside the bath to let the other sweat out, but no avail. The coughing fit send both of them to spend an almost sleepless night the day before and Hannibal had to return home early, putting an excuse of family obligation to his patients. They were very understanding, of course they had been, since he just told that his brother had been recently diagnosed with lung cancer and had to go through chemotherapy. His fat lie was definitely believable. 

“All right, I’ll bring the vin chaud and spike it with more cider we purchased at the farmer’s market.” Rubbing away sleep from his eyes, Hannibal pads downstairs almost in a trance. Getting the whole pot heated up again and getting more pills, he thinks about lacing the drink with sleeping pill, but knowing that combined with alcohol could be dangerous and even detrimental to his brother’s health, he decides against it and takes it upstairs. It seems like the violent coughing fit has died down, but the tremor carries throughout Nigel’s half-naked body. Already soaked two shirts and the evidence rumpled all over the floor, he runs a hand along the clammy skin. The body is cold, his head is too hot still. 

Retrieving an extra blanket and covering Nigel with it, Hannibal sighs softly and brings the mulled wine against his brother’s chapped lips. “Drink more of this and take the pills, I’ll massage your sinuses again to at least help with the congestion.” With an exasperated and slightly annoyed exhale, Nigel props himself up with an elbow and swallows the pills, washing it down with lukewarm water still half full inside the glass. “I can’t fucking sleep. My fucking body is exhausted, but my brain fucking rings, like someone’s playing a goddamn drum for twenty fucking four hours.” Pulling Hannibal close as his brother’s fingers work his head and neck again, Nigel loops an arm around his twin’s chest. 

“Mano meile, eiti miegoti (My love, go to sleep).” Hannibal whispers against Nigel’s ear as he nuzzles his chin against his brother’s, beginning to softly sing in Lithuanian and French.

Bonne nuit, mon ange (Goodnight, my angel)   
C'est l'heure de fermer les yeux (Time to close your eyes)   
Et de mettre ces questions de côté pour un autre jour (And save these questions for another day)  
Je crois savoir ce que tu me demandais (I think I know what you’ve been asking me)  
Je crois que tu sais ce que j'essayais de dire (I think you know what I’ve been trying to say)  
Je t'ai promis que je ne te quitterais jamais (I promised I would never leave you)  
Et tu devrais toujours savoir (And you should always know)  
Que où que tu puisses aller (Wherever you may go)  
Où que tu sois (No matter where you are)  
Je ne serai jamais très loin (I never will be far away)

Nigel falls asleep before the lullaby is over.


	39. Omega Hannibal - Nigel Jabs His Omega

“I want that heart tartare, from the man you just killed last night.” Grimacing as another fit of the twin’s kick is upon his swollen stomach, Hannibal pouts his lips as he looks up at his alpha. “I have been craving any raw meat since two nights ago when you were disposed in one of your ‘business’ trip once again. How many trips do you have in this month alone?” Stretched out on the lounge with parted legs and exposed stomach, he wraps fingers around Nigel’s wrist.

“No way I’m fucking cooking, I’ll ruin the fucking meat, I’ll help you dress up and we can go to that restaurant I like, I think I told you they have the goddamn delectable heart tartare, not as good as yours but still formidable.” Storming to pad through the stairs, he retrieves Hannibal’s stretchy pair of trousers and loose sweater that should snugly cover his omega’s protruding belly. 

“Throw those on and we’re going. I’ll drive the fucking Bentley.” Knowing Hannibal cannot drive the car in the state and his bike would be uncomfortable, he offers to drive as Hannibal begins to put on the sweater. Nigel quickly throws on his own jeans and shirt, putting on the thickest jacket as the snow begins to scatter all around the ground. 

Helping his omega to get on his feet, he takes Hannibal to the passenger seat and puts the seat belt on him as well. “We fucking have to make this longer or you’re not gonna be able to fucking breath anymore.” The belt stretches to the maximum length as it tightly wraps around the curve of the belly. Swiftly getting on the car and driving, he arrives in front of the deserted and quiet restaurant in the record time. 

Five portions of heart tartare arrives in front of them as all the dishes are set. Hannibal being the frequent customer inside the restaurant and the owner had been one of his former patients, the portions look like six instead of five. “You’re fucking gonna eat all of these.” Nigel looks at how much raw tartare there is and his mouth slack. As much as he loves the tartare too, this is just way too fucking much.

“I told you, I was craving them since two nights ago. Of course I can finish them.” Hannibal ravenously digs into the finely minced meat, simply seasoned and mixed with olives, capers, tomatoes, peppers and garlic chips. The vibrant colors and fragrant aroma of herbs and roasted pepper overwhelm the urge to devour the food. Hannibal takes his time relishing the flavor of the dish, although his pace is lot quicker than how he would usually take small bites. Still appreciating the fresh ingredients and the chef’s exceptional skills, he ravenously eats. Nigel merely licks his lips, wanting to eat, but he wants his omega to fill his stomach first. He orders his own share of food after Hannibal downs two plates of tartare, the plate almost licked clean. 

“You fucking are gonna eat all of those things and not offer any single fucking bite.” Nigel playfully jabs his omega with the fork on the sensitive inner thigh. Hannibal knits his brows and glares at his alpha. “Why did you do that for? And you ordered your share of food anyways.” Nigel’s mischievous smirk turns fully into a grin. “That’s not I was fucking referring to, fucking gluttonous pig. Part your fucking legs, I want that damn taste of your cum.” Another playful jab lands on Hannibal’s length and Hannibal almost spats his tartare on the plate in front of him. “J-just be careful of the slick. I’m wearing the damn plug.” 

Nigel’s grin widens as his cheek digs. “I’ll do that when I get your pudgy ass home. I’ll eat your damn ass when the opportunity comes, meanwhile, make yourself fucking comfortable, while I suck you off, you’re emptying the remainder of the tartare. I’m spending all the fucking money to feed you, so you reciprocate the fucking favor and gimme loads.” Lowering himself under the table and brushing his cheek over Hannibal’s stomach before the stretchy waistband goes down to reveal Hannibal’s thick length, he licks a stripe on the smooth crown, the tip of his tongue stimulating the precum to flow. “I expect you to fucking drown me with your cum.”


	40. Hannibal's Surprise

The first thing without even asking Hannibal about the curious mark on the collar of his twin’s dress shirt is the intense creeping heat that climbs up from his heart. His heart thundering as the veins on his neck throbs, angry clench of his teeth immediately follows. “What the fuck is that?” His eyes narrow and his lips immediately curve menacingly, a snarling sound rattling his chest as it heaves uncontrollably. Without even giving his twin time to explain, Nigel’s hand squeezes onto Hannibal’s jugular, pinning him roughly against the wall next to the foyer. 

“Nigel, you have to listen to my expla - “ Hannibal’s maroon eyes immediately blow wide and then slowly flutter close as he looks into his twin’s tempestuous hazel orbs, the green flecks darkening as their house slowly basks under the sunset, the unfiltered shades of red and orange breaking through their wide glass panes. “I don’t fucking need your explanation, I can even smell the fucking perfume on your goddamn body. Did you manage to fuck one of your patients, how fucking classic, Hannibal.” Feeling his brother’s adam’s apple bob slowly underneath his palm, his biceps flex as he lifts his twin against the wall. 

“You are fucking unbelievable, still fucking hard.” His hips pressing against Hannibal’s as he feels the other’s feet lift up, he has his older twin on the balls of his feet. “Undress me and check yourself, Nigel.” As his eyes roll back, he strains to breath and Hannibal parts his lips to swallow with effort, feeling Nigel’s fingers firmly constrict on his windpipe. He desperately holds onto his consciousness as his lungs begin to burn. 

Nigel’s hand is already roughly undoing the belt and pulling the trousers. At the sight of his brother’s underwear, the dominant hand that had been holding Hannibal by the neck instantly loosens. “What the fuck is this?” His hand pull at the silk black panties, attached with garter belt underneath as Nigel tugs the pants off some more, down to Hannibal’s knees. The tight sheer fabric perfectly hugging the muscular and long thighs. A spot already wet with precum, the tip peeking out above the waistband of the panties. 

Taking much needed deep exhales, Hannibal’s torso slouches against Nigel’s taut abdomen, scenting the faint musk from the other’s groin. Both had been uncontrollably hard, already weeping transparent liquid. “This is my mark on the collar, my lips. I did this to surprise you.” In fact, Hannibal’s lips are a bit more pinkish, the faint smear of lipsticks still visible on the lower lip. Nigel’s thumb runs along Hannibal’s lip as he pulls the other upward. Looking at the thumb and checking the color transfer onto his skin, he licks the lipstick and locks his lips firmly against Hannibal’s, his tongue pushing inside and passionately devouring his older twin’s mouth. 

Grabbing the collar of Hannibal’s shirt and tugging the tie, Nigel swiftly undoes the tie to wrap around his brother’s wrists, almost effortlessly tying down the other as he pushes his brother off on the lounge. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard for that surprise. You had me mistaken, you had me almost kill you.” Shaking his head as to let the doubt towards his brother cloud his judgment, he rips Hannibal’s shirt open and runs his broad hand over the thin corset that sits underneath the shirt. “You are fucking full of surprises. I’m going to make you float in the fucking clouds to make up for my mistake. I have no fucking idea why I let bigoted distrust overwhelm my brain and heart.” Completely dispelled of his suspicions now, Nigel’s orbs are full of wanton desire and arousal as he sinks down between Hannibal’s thighs.


	41. Sneaky Hannibal (Whisper Verse)

Hannibal is exceptionally talented in feigning his twin to believe that he is indeed fast asleep. Controlling his breathing and listening to the other breath underneath him, he is still more than well aware of the musk of the amalgamation of the evidence of their long lovemaking the night before. Nigel’s long and luscious hair draped over his cheek as he listens to the slow and strong heartbeat and savoring the sight of his brother fast asleep, he feigns to stir in his sleep and strokes his cheek against his brother’s defined cheekbone. Nigel looked much more like his older self, the sun-kissed look slowly returning and packing more muscles. 

They had been exercising together in order to strengthen themselves. Hannibal had already been extensively working out in the mornings, following strict schedule almost every day. Nigel had been adamant to follow along the rigorous exercises, running five miles in the break of the morning and taking a nap, then an hour of swimming in the afternoon. Hannibal had still been taking his leave of absence from psychiatric work and had soon returned to his practice just few days ago. Since then, Nigel had been working out to gain more weight and packed on impressive six pounds of sheer muscles. His torso looked much broader and his old muscular and lean self was visible underneath more lithe and narrow frame. Hannibal had been very proud and had pat himself on the back for suggesting it. 

Sneaking out from the bed after pecking a feather-light kiss on Nigel’s cheek, Hannibal retreats to his study to retrieve the pearls inside his drawer, since Nigel had brought it on their fourteenth birthday, he had kept it all along, even after their devastating, gut-wrenching heart-aching breakup. Along with the bloodied and tear-soaked letter, Nigel’s suicide note along with his own unsent letter he reread over and over again, contained inside the wooden box that he had kept since the days in Paris. Stained with his fingerprints, sweat and tears.

Digging the soil inside the garden, the frosted ground still covered with heavy snowfall, the shovel quickly makes its way deep inside. The night is serene with clear sky, a soft snowflakes falling onto his thick sweater as he means to surprise his brother. Noticing his brother’s comforting weight absent, Nigel wakes up to go to the bathroom to urinate and then heads downstairs to get a glass of water. Padding through the kitchen and noticing a faint sound coming from the garden, he raises a brow and drags a pair of slippers outside the garden. 

“What the fuck are you doing in the snow? I thought you were gonna upturn the garden later this week.” With a glass of water in his hand along with a smoke retrieved from the jacket, Nigel discreetly walks behind Hannibal, who is completely immersed in his task. “Oh, just couldn’t sleep, so why not.” Putting the shovel on the ground as soon as the box is hidden from his view, Hannibal leans against Nigel’s hard frame. “Come, as soon as I finish the fucking smoke, I’ll make sure you can fall asleep like a fucking baby.” Taking a long drag and feeling the nicotine surge through his bloodstream, Nigel pecks a kiss on Hannibal’s jaw, the white puff of smoke and his own exhale crystallizing in the frigid air, he loops an arm around his brother’s waist and takes both of them inside. Completely oblivious to what Hannibal had been doing, his lips mold against his brother’s as soon as the sliding door closes behind him. 

“Let’s taking this to the bed.” Wiping his hand and washing the dirt away, Hannibal nuzzles against the crook of his brother’s neck and smiles, inhaling his brother’s comforting and familiar scent. “I want you to make love to me just like the first time you had me, I couldn’t stop thinking myself from it, more so that our trip is only two days away from tonight.” Hips to hips as they ascend the stairs, Hannibal lays beneath his brother and pulls the loose pajamas off from Nigel’s narrow hips, his broad hand sliding down across his brother’s muscled thighs. “I could do this all night. I love you so much, Nigel.” 

“Love to do this all fucking night, my gorgeous brother.” A faint smirk radiating from his lips, he puts off the smoke after the last long drag, his lips barely parting to let out the smoke as he watches it fog up the headboard as he lowers his head to latch his lips against the defined jaw.


	42. Last Words - Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My answer to Hannibal's Last Words drabble  
> found here ; http://archiveofourown.org/works/4719203/chapters/11482744

When Hannibal’s lawyer knocked on the desolate mansion, the faint ghost of his brother’s existence still lingering inside the second floor, he had been faced with the inevitable. there was only one kind of news that the man could carry. Hannibal’s execution. The man had simply told him that he’d get the urn full of his brother’s ash, sketches bundled up inside the small portfolio and the last picture of his brother in person again when he gets access to them. It had taken two full weeks for Nigel to get it. His appearance could be better. He had quit his job, had drank and done drugs until he crashed on the lounge, the house looked trashed and messed up than usual, even under his carelessness. Hannibal’s last letter staring at him as if his brother was still beside him as a ghost. Stained with his blood and tears now.

My dearest brother,

Soon you will hear news of my death. I won’t be so presumptive as to assume that you’ll mourn for me after all that I put you through. I don’t deserve your tears. I never did. The image of you breaking down has haunted me since the day I walked away. Every moment since then, I’ve wanted to tell you the truth. As time went by, I realized it didn’t matter why I did what I did. I broke the heart of the only one who ever loved me. There are no words to convey how sorry I am that I ruined both our lives. I don’t ask for your forgiveness. I only ask that when you think back on our time together you think of me as the big brother I once was. The one who followed you around with puppy dog eyes, who could never get enough of you. The one who loved you with every breath he took.

I will always love you.

Hannibal

As soon as he had the ash and the last picture of Hannibal, looking more gaunt than ever before and eating what he can make of as a bowl of cassoulet and drinking red wine merely before the needle pierced him and his last breath stilled. The sketches of their Paris one-room apartment and both of them clothed, and some of him naked sleeping on the bed. One particular sketch strikes out as his bloodshot eyes stare at it as he engraves it inside his brain. His sleeping face full of tranquility as he leans against Hannibal’s chest. There was no fucking doubt that his brother had drawn it from his memory alone. Indefinite amount of their lovemaking on the very twin-sized bed inside their apartment. Inside Hannibal’s belongings, along with all the sketches and pearl necklace wrapped around the middle, there was the key to their apartment. 

After selling the house to a wealthy young newlyweds, he purchases a one-way ticket to Paris with all of his necessary belongings. Along with the letter he writes before the departure.

Inside their old apartment, he finds a note stuck to the pillowcase on the bed along with a small key. In Hannibal’s usual elaborate and elegant cursive, it tells him that something is buried under the garden. Doesn’t even need a fucking shovel for work. The wooden box hugged tight against his chest, he finds a small black velvet box tucked into the soil, digging out the two rings with a small diamond encased on a thin band. 

As soon as he wears one of what is registered only as a wedding band, he cracks the urn open and scatters the ash all over their twin sized bed. Taking out the letter with trembling hands, he swallows loudly and begins to read his letter.

Dear mon chere frere.

Trust me when I fucking say this, the memory of our breakup isn’t completely forgotten, but knowing that I can’t fucking feel or touch you devastates me more than how much you already ruined me with your fucking needle injection. As you know, there were times I could not forgive you and I wanted myself dead for still hopelessly in love with you, but I still can’t deny the fact that you’re the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me. More than being a fucking puppy with dog eyed big brother who loved me so fucking much. 

I’d fucking give more than my life to have you merely by my side. I just want your goddamn presence, to see that fucking face. To feel your breath landing on my face. Your fucking existence. 

I will see you on the other side. Greet me with your widest embrace.

Even in death. ensemble dans l'amour pour toujours. 

Your little brother.

Soon, the blood and brain matter from his brain permeates and soaks through the pillowcase in a heart shape and his hand holds the pearl beads falls limply by the edge of the mattress. The urn with the ring inside shatters into a thousand pieces as the remnants of the ash scatters around the ring. The morning light breaking through the open window scatters Hannibal and his letter into the kitchen, along with the trail of Hannibal’s ash. A roll of his tears flow along his cheekbone as his lips tilt in a smile.


	43. Omega Nigel's Heat

The morning light breaks through the Lecter household’s big window and the only sound filling the master suite is the sound of Nigel’s slow and strong breathing and the pencil gliding and pressing against the sketchpad with the occasional sound of the eraser swiping across the surface of the heavyweight paper. Hannibal had been sketching his omega every weak and the book was more than half-filled now, with the progression of Nigel’s bulging stomach. Now that Nigel was only a month away from his expectant delivery date, the protruding stomach was too much for Nigel to lay flat on his back, which forced him to lay on his side, although that was uncomfortable as well. He would always have Hannibal’s leg propping the underside of the stomach and to wrap his leg around his mate in order to sleep more soundly.

Hannibal hadn’t moved his leg since he had been drawing for two straight hours. His meticulous rendering almost to the completion, he puts down the sketchbook and relishes his work for a while. A slight furrowing of his omega, but nevertheless tranquil face and his hand gingerly placed on the top side of the stomach with another near the pillow. The blanket kicked away near Nigel’s feet with the placid cock pressing against near Hannibal’s leg, on Nigel’s left thigh. Hannibal’s lips curl up in a smirk as he strokes a hand over the gargantuan stomach, the twin girls, Annabelle and Nigella soon to be born into the world. 

His broad hand traveling up the loose sweater, Hannibal rolls a thumb around his omega’s nipple, stimulating it. The duvet had been already soaking wet as the slick pooled around the dip of the mattress, flowing to the underside of the belly, the most sunken part of the mattress. Groaning, Nigel slowly rouses as more streams of clear and thick liquid pulses out of his heat.

Hannibal’s hand begins to point up as his short nails begins to scratch all over Nigel’s chest, the grey fluff brushing over his fingers as the tips ghosts over the tanned skin, lifting the sweater and titillating his mate. “Hannibal!” Nigel immediately sneaks his hand under the sweater to swat his alpha’s hands, but Hannibal merely chuckles and goes over to the opposite side, laying behind and continuing to tickle the soles of his omega’s underarm. “Mmm, your heat, smells so good, I can scent you from miles if you smell this intoxicating and sweet.” Nuzzling against the crook of Nigel’s neck, he presses his robed cock against his mate’s back. 

Nigel presses tight against Hannibal’s groin and turns to brush his lips against his alpha’s cheek. His hair all mussed and his face slightly flushed with heat. Pushing his hand inside Hannibal’s robe as he undoes the sash, he pulls out his alpha’s cock through the waistband of the tight boxers. “Need you right fucking now.” Hannibal’s hand pulls the sleeves out and tugs the sweater over Nigel’s head. His hands still continuing to tickle. “Goddamnit, Hannibal! Stop fucking tickling me or I’ll bump you and fucking trap you with my goddamn stomach!” Nigel’s arms flexing as he traps one of Hannibal’s arm under his armpit, he slaps his brother’s hand multiple times until the back of hand turns color. 

“All right! All right! Let my hand go, fuck..” Playfully swatting Nigel’s ass and pumping his already hard cock, he slaps the crevice of his omega’s ass before easily sliding his length inside Nigel’s soaking wet heat, his length soon covered with the slick. “I think I’ll eat your ass after the knot deflates and the duvet already soaked wet. Next time, I’ll get one of the kiddie pools set up with you inside. I want to swim in it.”


	44. Sick Twins (Hannibal passes out in the bathroom)

Feeling his mouth parched in the middle of the night, Nigel had been sound asleep until his own throat starts to get sore with every swallow of his saliva. Clearing his throat and noticing Hannibal absent with the bathroom door slightly open with a stripe of light peeking through the dark master suite, he figures that his brother is taking a dump or something. Nothing to worry about, as they both had been sick, succumbing to viral fever.

Padding through the stairs to retrieve a tall glass of warm water with some pills of ibuprofen, Nigel scratches his groin and lazily drags his feet upstairs, groaning as he swallows his two pills. Raising his eyebrow as the bathroom remains dead quiet with not a sound slipping out of the room, he puts the pills and half-empty glass on Hannibal’s side of the bed and saunters off to the bathroom, the sash dragging behind him as he’s only in his tight boxers.

Hannibal is passed out on the floor with bit of blood on his forehead, the toilet cover lifted up as clearly, his brother had been throwing up the contents of their dinner. Cassoulet his brother always makes to perfection. Today’s meat had been from the particularly rude pharmacist who had commented about their incestuous relationship in a particularly derisive way and the meat had been definitely gone well with the pork skin and white haricot beans. the hearty, rich and slow-cooked meal had been too much on Hannibal’s not up-to-par body’s digestive system. The meal apparently not sitting well inside the other’s stomach.

Flushing the toilet and lifting Hannibal up, Nigel gets a wet cloth and wipes his brother’s mouth and forehead, still sticky with blood. The evidence says as the twin had lurched the whole meal out, he had been too enervated to get up and passed out, banging his head on the corner of the copper bathtub. 

“Fuck lord, Hannibal.” Nigel’s voice is heavy with accent and coarse with sore throat and sleep. He wipes the blood clean, but his hand still comes wet, which means only one thing, he needs stitching. Hannibal groans as he tries to prop himself up and Nigel wordlessly beckons his twin to stay. 

“Your fucking forehead is split open, I’ll get the aid in your goddamn medical cabinet.” Retreating quickly to the study and finding a conventional satchel with all the familiar stuff he had seen in the hospital, Nigel knows enough from his own experience to stitch his brother up. His hand definitely isn’t as dexterous and meticulous enough to align the suture perfectly in neat and straight line. Hannibal’s bridge of the nose minutely creases, withholding the pain as much as possible as the needle pierces through the gashed skin. If Hannibal had been fully roused, then he would’ve have remarked about how wrong and incorrect Nigel’s stitching had been, but they would sleep it off and head to the hospital the first thing in the morning. Hannibal reassures that he’d be okay once the bleeding stops and his fever subsides. 

Hannibal’s head is stifling hot and pallid as he begins to sweat, his dark hair clinging to his forehead as Nigel wipes it clean for the last time and sticks a big fat bandage over the forehead. “Are you fucking sure you’re gonna be okay?” Nigel’s brows furrow as he loops an arm around his twin’s waist, propping the other up and carrying him to the bed, the evidence of Hannibal’s passing out still on the bathroom floor. 

Helping Hannibal to take the pills and holding the glass for him to drink, Nigel lays next to his brother, flush against the other and pulls the blanket over. Both of their bodies yet again covered with sweat and muscles tremor as the chills pass through their fever-ridden bodies. “Fucking lord, we’re gonna die like this. I don’t feel so fucking hot either.” Nigel clings to Hannibal as the other nuzzles against Nigel’s ashen and mussed locks. “You did well, didn’t even need any morphine to endure the pain.” 

“Mmm, I’m fucking sure I have the perfect way to assuage the pain…” His voice more sultry and husky, Nigel shoves a hand down under Hannibal’s boxers, his cock instantly hardening under his twin’s ministration. “Perhaps this is the fucking cure I needed after all.”


	45. Twink Nigel Verse; Hannibal Dyes His Hair

Nigel had started to work in a club nearby their house, a recent establishment that started to become more and more famous with youngsters and bachelors as his good and sultry looks attracted men and women alike. His narcissistic and confident demeanor, his usual characteristic swagger and somewhat androgynous look to him made him the most sought after bartender and the most tipped. With only two weeks of working, he had made a hefty sum of money considering how poor he had been before coming to search for his older brother. Nigel Lecter was becoming an attraction of some sorts in the club, him putting on a show bi hourly in the club and he thrived in his element. 

Getting home around early in the morning, riding his motorcycle that Hannibal had purchased for him, the light of dawn stretched behind him as he swerved in the driveway. Knowing that Hannibal would be up preparing light breakfast before he took a short nap, their routine fit perfectly. When Nigel came home around 6am, Hannibal always was up already, going through his extensive morning grooming routine and cooking breakfast. After eating, Nigel would go to sleep while Hannibal worked in his office. When lunchtime rolled around, they met at one of the bistros or restaurants Hannibal frequented and would partake in some ‘special’ activities before they headed to his office and home, respectively. Nigel got some more nap down as he had to work in the evening, sometimes Hannibal came to the club to down a drink or two before cooking or eating a light dinner. 

Hannibal had felt self-conscious around all the young people and had decided to dye his hair. In attempt to get it done before Nigel got home, he began to mix the dye and comb the mix into his dark hair with gray scattered throughout. Nigel barges into the master suite as usual and finds his older brother sitting on the edge of the toilet and sticking his head forward, in attempt to not get any hair-dye on the robe. 

“What the fuck, Hannibal.” Nigel immediately bursts into a laugh as his brother’s slouched stance. “If you need help, I can do it. You’re gonna get the fucking black all over the floor and the toilet lid.” Taking the disposable glove off from Hannibal’s hand, he puts it on his right hand and begins to comb through the dark strands. “Why the fuck did you decide to do this now?” Nigel’s lips curl up and they stretch cheek to cheek in an amused smirk.

“I didn’t want to look older than all those young people in the club. I want to watch you perform and drink. And give you lots of tips. You are quite a popular bartender in the club.” Hannibal chuckles and lets his little brother get through all the gray strands. “I don’t like it when you talk to all those young guys and when you have the free time and we’re inside the private rooms, I want them to know that I’m not fifteen years older than you.” 

Nigel finishes coating the black dye on his brother’s hair and glances at the clock. “Oh, you don’t look THAT old, definitely older than a lot of people who come in the club, but you fucking are the hottest.” Lowering himself between Hannibal’s thighs, he pecks a soft kiss on his older brother’s lips before stroking his hand against the open front of the robe. “Mm. We should take a shower together after we wait for fifteen minutes.” 

“I already have the breakfast set up on your side of the nightstand. A simple fruit platter and stacks of wheat pancakes with blueberries.” Nigel’s hand reaches for Hannibal’s boxers. “Strong as fuck coffee too?” “Yes.” Hannibal’s back arch as his ass slides against the smooth surface, propping himself with his arms. “I think I’ll have this first then I’ll let you take me.”


	46. Twins Play Twister

“You seriously think you can beat me in twister.” Hannibal begins to stretch his arms out in front of him, lacing his hand together and with a soft grunt, lifts his arm upward. 

“Fuck yes, you might be flexible through your fucking yoga and shit, but I’m the more lithe and narrow one, your goddamn pudgy ass doesn’t even stand a chance.” Nigel curls his spine upward as he stands with the balls of his feet, his lips slightly parting as his two palms support his lower back. 

“What do I get if I win?” Hannibal’s lips curl up in a subtle smirk, he was confident that he’d win, considering that he was sure he was more flexible one out of the two. 

“Fucking hundred bucks and a goddamn rimjob. I’ll fucking eat your ass and make you cum.” Nigel begins to roll his sweater sleeve as the fireplace crackles shades of red and orange sparkles. His hazel hues mischievously gaze at his twin, the green flecks in his irises turning dark as his pupils reflect the shades of red.

“So what are the rules?” Hannibal merely narrows his eyes and nudges his brother, retrieving the shot glasses and bottles of bourbon and whiskey. “Vintage, thirty years old I’ve been saving for a special occasion.” 

“Whatever, so you know the fucking drill. Whoever loses balance and falls before the count of five drinks a shot and loses a piece of clothes.” Nigel sets up the mat while his brother gets all the shot glasses in front of them and opens the first bottle. “We each take the fucking shot now, bottoms up, Hannibal.” 

After taking the shot and continuing on with the game, each of them are left with only their tight underwear and feeling rather tipsy now. Hannibal more than Nigel, simply he isn’t used to drinking hard liquor like his younger twin had been. “Keep your leg out from my face, your foot smell.” Cringing his nose, Hannibal pushes Nigel’s foot with his cheek. “Fucking try me, what about your goddamn crotch next to my lips, although I’d like to lick that instead of looking at it from a fucking inch away!” He shouts as he tries to spin the wheel.

“Your left hand on yellow.” Looking around at their entangled body, he laughs as there was no way Hannibal could ever manage to succeed. Hannibal smirks and lifts his foot, snaking his left arm around his left leg to land his hand smack dab on the yellow circle. “My years of yoga training is finally paying off.” He smugly smiles as his lips curl up more to a toothy grin.

“Fuck lord…” Swearing and then muttering in Romanian “Rahat nenorocit,” Nigel watches Hannibal spin the wheel as he pushes the board near his brother. “Your right hand on green.” He looks at their bodies and can’t help to laugh out loud. “I think you’re about to lose your underwear.” Nigel’s eyes narrow as he scoffs. “Not a fucking chance.” 

A few minutes later, Hannibal’s panties are off, all the way down to his knee and Nigel’s tongue is upon his twin’s ass, licking around the puckered skin around the entrance with a hundred bucks richer. “I can still see your fucking conceited smile from here, Hannibal, all I fucking want to hear from you is the sound of you moaning and sobbing, that’s your motherfucking specialty when it comes to sex.”


	47. Think of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel/Hannibal/Will triangle.

How he got into a such vulnerable and submissive position is not a mystery, as a moment before, he had been in a blissful and tranquil sleep, the scent of their lovemaking from the previous night still lingering in the air inside his bedroom. At Will’s touch on his neck, he immediately rouses. The sunlight is hindered by the blinds, only a mere thin strips breaking through and painting on his bare torso. His soft, almost boyish hazel hues turn intense and stormy out of the blue. Feeling Will’s weight press down against his body, his heartrate begins to escalate, thumping frantically. His lips parting to speak, but stopped short by a harsh tug of his ashen locks, his chin points to the floor and his neck stretches, swallowing thick as the veins on his neck wildly throbs. 

Without even thinking, he knows who Will is referring to. Hannibal. As much as their lovemaking had been genuine, his heart belonged to his brother. Although he had been incarcerated and there was no way he would be able to escape from his fate, he had desperately wanted to see him. His request was denied by none other than his dear brother, who hadn’t wanted to see his younger twin in this condition. Spending most of the time in his memory palace, reliving their most happiest memories inside his head and the barren ward. His heart ached for him, but he understood the sentiment. At first, his brother had sent him to Wolf Trap, checking to see if the empath had been doing well. Perhaps it was what Hannibal intended, he would like to believe it was not. They fell in love and he had succumbed to the carnal desires.

Completely pinned under Will’s weight as his face, except his eyes maintained the air of calmness and indifference, the sharp end of the pocket knife drags across the length of his neck, the tanned skin turning slightly pink as he feels the cold blade. Swallowing dry as his adam’s apple bobs slowly, his neck arches at uncomfortable angle, ready to be snapped if the other man applied too much pressure. He knew, when Hannibal had been the main topic of discussion, his eyes sparkled and glimmered. Myriads of emotion whipped through his brain, but the most prominent one had been love. No matter how much pain his brother had inflicted, how hard it was to forgive him for what he had done to him, he loved his twin more than anything else in the world. The movement of his adam’s apple halts as Will’s pocket knife stopped there, threatening to pierce or slit his throat. 

Clenching his teeth hard as his neck tauts even further, the veins become even more pronounced. Kill me now. If I can’t fucking see him. I’d rather be dead than continue living in the vast mansion like a fucking ghost. As soon as the blade cuts through his skin like a hot knife on a cold block of butter, he doesn’t even make a sound, except the involuntary spasm of his body as he begins to gurgle. As soon as the jugular severs, the amount of blood splattering all over the covers and sheets increase dramatically, soaking and pooling around his naked body. Quickly fading away as his peripheral view becomes to blacken around the corner, a complete darkness surrounds him as his heart rhythm slows. As soon as Will’s hand frees his neck, his head limply rolls to his shoulder, his hazel orbs liquid as a tear falls down his cheek. 

I hope you’re happy with Will. The fucking cunning boy you wanted in your life. Think of me as you live in your fucking memory palace.

With the last exhale, his heart completely stops and his curled fingers loosen, His slightly damp ashen hair curtaining half of his angular and tanned face.


	48. Nigel Gets Severely Wounded

He didn’t even have to ask the assailants again. He registered the exact reason why he had been abducted in the first place. It was easy to mistake one for the other, especially if one had paid no attention at all and didn’t even bother to look for the details. Nigel saw him and his brother as a separate identities, completely different, although they were carbon copies of each other. Hannibal was more tan, broad, statuesque with an edge of coldness and impassive demeanor as he had put up person suit when he wasn’t with him. Him, on the other hand, was more lean and muscular, upfront and in people’s face. Speaking with his face first then his curved and cruel lips spat out curses. His limbs tied with the heavy chain with a sphere metal ball around, his arms lifted up, standing with balls of his feet, his body is drenched with water, soaked wet to the bones, his chin digging into his chest as wet locks of his hair dripping mix of his coagulated blood and water. 

About two days ago, he had been abducted from his club. When he was closing down the club after all the staff had left, he had decided to stay after and tend to some paperwork, enjoying a vintage whiskey that his client had gifted him as he smoked half a pack in an hour, buried behind his laptop and stack of files. It had been a mistake, a devastating one, that in spite of lounging inside his office, his jacket with pocket knife and his handgun strapped to the pockets, hung around his chair. There was an access to his office from the window opposite his desk, right behind him and the perpetrators took notice of that. Once they figured out the layout of the club, abducting Nigel had been easy. With a taser gun and a baseball bat, in his inebriated state, didn’t stand a two man who had been as big and formidable as him. Limp against their arms and his face covered, he had been taken into the remote basement, too dim and dank to figure out if it was daytime or nighttime.

Hannibal had been restless and without Nigel’s presence on the bed and his weight pressed into his body, sleep seemed to be distant. Lounging around with his cell phone in his hand and a glass of dry red in other, it was about time his younger twin’s roaring revving engine would halt and he would storm inside with a faint smirk on his face. At 6am to be exact. Nigel’s inveterate lateness didn’t happen with him coming home. The time passed rather slowly as he nodded off on the armchair. The time on his cell read 8:30am and he didn’t have any sessions until 11am. With no message or missed calls, he decides to visit the club himself. Although knowing it might be locked, it would be best if he explored it his own. Finding the steel door, with layers of old paint flaking away under his grip, it opens with ease under his strong arms. Striding to Nigel’s office and finding his brother’s jacket, he accesses the office. Then, he slips on something. By the desk, he almost missed it, as the carpet and blood’s color had been very similar. Looking at his oxfords and finding smears of what he can only guess as Nigel’s blood, his face furrows and a scowl takes over his face, gritting his teeth as he grabs Nigel’s cell and jacket with all of his usual weapons. I’m going to find you, dear brother. No matter what happens.

The assailant’s raised voice merely a white noise as Nigel’s head reels, all he could think about is Hannibal. So the man wants to fucking torture me to pry the information out of me. He still remembers the barrel of the shotgun placed on the temple of his head the moment after he had been hung, tied to the metal pole in the middle of the room. “I can fucking blow your head off, but no, I want you to fucking suffer like your victims did. You fucking heartless monster, mutilating corpses while the victims were alive. I’m going to return the fucking favor until you give in to admit what you are.” He could feel the trigger almost pull as he hears the bullet line with the barrel, one flick of the finger would send his brain completely smushed inside the skull as the bullet fragmented into pieces, causing cerebral hemorrhage. Death would be instantaneous. Of course, as the assailant’s words, that wouldn’t be how things would fare. 

Placed under the life-sized water tank in the corner of the room with a latch on top, Nigel had been standing inside the center of the tank with the metal ball still chained around the ankle. Preventing him from floating, the latch closed over his head with the little transparent glass on top. The man’s amused face ingrained to his brain. When I get out from here, you’re a fucking dead meat. Vowing to getting rid of him like a smoke would vanish after dissipating into the thin air, he tries to calm his breathing. The memory of him sinking under the dark murky riverbank immediately takes over his mind as he remembers it still so vividly. The sensation so provocative as every nerve on his body remembers. It is traumatic. With every jet of water filling the tank and his body submerging under the less than clean and cold water, his heart thumps frenetically against his chest. Soon, the water level rises to his chest and he loudly gasps, his eyes fluttering close as the temperature affects his body, a tremor making him hard to stay still. He had almost died then, with the impact of the water fracturing his ribs and hipbones. He had been lucky to escape without having his body paralyzed. As the water rises to his neck, it is difficult to maintain the air of calm, impassiveness upon his facade as he takes a long inhale. Hannibal had taught him how to control his breathing, but with him, it was a battle he was bound to lose. Propelled by emotion, he could feel the ardent heat, that bloodlust creeping up as all he could think about is how to kill the man standing above him, smirking down in his characteristic manner. It wouldn’t be quick. He would cut all the man’s limbs out one by one, savoring and honoring every part of the man. Heart could be made into a tartare, Hannibal would know what to cook with other vital organs and meat. As jets of water entered through his lung, filling the trachea and bronchi, his conscious slips rapidly as he feels like he’s floating on cloud, except his death is imminent, he only had about three minutes. 

Pulled out just over a minute by the man and with the taser placed on Nigel’s lower abdomen just above his hipbones, he gurgles and spats water out, some trickling against his chin. It was obvious that resuscitation had been done, as he saw a machine placed by his foot. His head ached even further, as the traumatic experience made his body to be put under tremendous stress and the adrenaline rushing frantically through his brain, he hadn’t noticed the throbbing pain radiating from the side of his head, where he had been hit with the baseball bat. Even before he could fully rouse up, the man’s hand smacks his cheek hard, his limp head turning sharply against his shoulder. Immediately reddened and swollen, his eyes does the talking as he glowers, a low growl emitting from his busted lips. “How many people did you just fucking kill, where are all those other fucking bodies, I know you killed more than your so-called fucking field kabuki and tableaus.” He cruelly smirks and spats on the man’s face, which earns him more beating as jabs and hooks wind him and makes him to dribble and spew blood down his almost naked body, his wet boxers clinging onto his groin. Livid bruise forming all around his torso as his shoulders lurch forward, the shuddering intensifies as his internal core temperature lowers. A mild hypothermia sets in as his half-shut hazel orbs weakly open. His hair clinging onto the bloodied face, still dripping blood down his neck. A throbbing and prickling pain shoots upward as his head makes his view even more blurry and bleary.

Two full days without proper nutrition and water, his stomach growled and he didn’t have enough strength to even support his weight. His biceps straining to hold weight, the tremor in his body intensified with the coldness seeping through his body. He doesn’t know how many hours has passed and his wrists ache, the restraint digging into the flesh. “Say it, fucking say that you’re the Chesapeake Ripper.” The man’s voice ringing as his enervated body strains to even lift his head, a cold blade stabs his side, dragging along the right side, almost matching the prominent scar on his right side. Blood gushing profusely from the wound, it is deep enough to require stitches, but not enough to inflict fatal damage. The loss of blood would weaken him even more. The taste of rusty blood still lingering inside his mouth, he is in a trance like state, in and out of consciousness as his lackadaisical body and pallid face looks upon the man. Desperately trying to ingrain the man’s face onto his brain. He passes out from exhaustion and loss of blood as he feels jaded.

Hannibal had tried everything in his disposal. Searching contacts on Nigel’s cell phone, he had called almost everyone who he could contact. No avail, he lived like a living corpse, alert, but going through the motions. The sessions were bleak with new patients and even being inside the kitchen without his brother’s usual banter and relentless teasing, the days were banal and insipid. He had been lounging inside the living room, a deep sigh lifting his chest as he had been in his pajama pants, white button down and a navy robe with whiskey glass in his hand, trying to concentrate on the scholarly article he was supposed to finish within this week.

Suddenly, he sees the headlight shine through the window and a heavy thud followed right after. Raising his eyebrow as he opens the front door, he finds Nigel’s half-naked body sprawled on the driveway, unconscious with blood oozing out from the right side. He watches the black van with unlicensed plate in the distance, speeding up as it becomes a small dot. Fuck, Nigel. What did they do to you. Placing two fingers over his brother’s neck and finding a pulse, albeit weak, Nigel’s body is turned bluish, his usual tanned olive color disappeared as his twin shudders. The mind of a surgeon takes over as he performs CPR, rolling up his sleeves as he does hundred chest compressions a minute. More blood soaks through his pants and robe as he begins to profusely sweat. Tilting Nigel’s head and opening the airway, his mouth gropes against his brother’s, feeling the chest rise. “Come on! Fuck… Don’t fucking die on me, Nigel!” A tear streams down his cheek as he bites his lower lip, trying to not openly sob.


	49. Omega Nigel Giving Birth

Turned on his side, Nigel’s stomach is a view to be reckoned with, with a mountainous bulge with stretch marks and varicose veins on his used-to-be muscular legs. His face, hands and ankles swollen. Having been craving all sorts of things as his expectant delivery date neared, Hannibal was the one who had to suffer fast food runs and to meet his demands to get unseasonal fruits from the grocery store or doing a run of sweeping cheeseburgers and milkshakes from McDonald's at 4 fucking am. When his demands weren’t met, then Nigel would pout in his most inglorious ways and throw a fit of his lifetime. 

Having experienced all the telltale signs of pregnancy, including morning sickness, bouts of seesawing emotions, all he wanted was to get over with this fucking deliver and lose all the goddamn extra weight. As always, Hannibal had been slowly taking him from the back, mindful of his protruding stomach as the older twin gingerly holds the bottom of the bulge to prevent Nigel from rocking too much. The slick already spilling profusely leaking and pooling under them, their duvet already soaking wet. 

“Oh… fuck…” Nigel’s groaning intensifies more with each of the deep and slow thrusts, Hannibal’s thick length already swelling up at the base, the knot pushing against his most tight resistance. Leaning his head against Hannibal’s shoulder as he exhales a sigh, Nigel’s face grimaces as he feels something off, he wasn’t the one to make too much noises inside the bedroom, but it had been different from the start. 

“Ah… F-fuck.. I think there’s something fucking wrong with me. I don’t feel so fucking hot.” His chin digging into his chest as his iron grip bruisingly digs into Hannibal’s soft flesh under his alpha’s ass, his hand glides off due to a layer of sweat covering his twin’s body. 

Beginning to shake and shiver, another one of his hand squeezes hard against Hannibal’s arm, which loops around his chest. All he can feel is the loud smack of their sweat drenched and slick covered ass and groin reverberate through his eardrums and Hannibal’s warm and moist breaths warming his body up even further. 

Feeling more discomfort as his entrance becomes even more wetter, a continuous stream flows down under there and his face grimaces in pain. “Fuck… Hannibal, get the fuck off me, right fucking now.” His hand which had been around his alpha’s hipbone pushes the taut stomach, writhing as his leg slides off from Hannibal’s thigh, hooked as he spreads himself apart. 

“You feel wetter than usual.” Hannibal merely remarks as he continues to fuck the small space behind the inflated knot. Nigel’s face distorts as pleasure is soon overwhelmed by acute pain inside his groin. “Seriously, get the fuck off. It fucking hurts.” Clenching his teeth together and straining, his head falls back as his eyes clamped shut, roughly tugging Hannibal’s hair as he pushes his twin off. With a loud pop, his brother’s length pops out, stretching his entrance painfully as the water breaks. 

The amniotic fluid gushes out between Nigel’s legs as his mouth slacks, his groaning more rhythmic and wanton. “Fuck... “ 

“Oh shit, you’re starting to go into labor. We need to move quickly, to the suite bathroom, it would be better for both you and the babies.” Grabbing the robe draped over the chair near the side of the bed, Hannibal ties the sash around his waist to access his omega’s entrance, he doesn’t see the baby’s head poking out yet.” 

“Why the fuck do I have to move my ass all the fucking way over there?” Groaning, his thighs support his bulging stomach as he begins to feel some kind of movement around it. “Better for you to relax under the warm water and especially for the babies to go from the warm and wet womb into a tub of warm water than to be pulled out into the cold cruel world right away. Let’s go before you go into contractions.” Propping a knee on the drenched sheets, Hannibal wraps an arm around his omega’s chest. 

“I can’t fucking move, Hannibal! Goddamnit! No fucking way.” Nigel’s body curls up in a fetal position as his legs part up. 

“I’ll help you, but not like this. Come.” Hannibal softly sighs and lifts his omega up by the side, as sitting up is an impossible task. His hand looping around to support the heavy stomach, he eases his omega slide off from the bed. Nigel’s form hunches forward, the slick and amalgamation of fluids continuously stream between his legs as he slowly begins the arduous trip to the bathroom only few feet away. But it feels like a mile as the contraction gets worse. 

Drenched in sweat and a trail of wet slimy liquid covering their tracks, Hannibal eases his omega inside the spacious tub, warm water filled just enough to submerge Nigel’s entrance, which Hannibal sees the entrance opening up as it continues to clench and gape. 

“Once your walls open up more, I’d have to pull whoever comes out the first. In the meantime, take some deep breaths. It’d be painful. The babies pushing you with knees and elbows and all that. I’ll try my best to ease you out of the pain.”

Already feeling completely enervated from the trip to the bathroom, Nigel begins to push as hard as he can, as the overwhelming urge to get the babies out taking over. Pressing his chin into his chest and grabbing the edge of the tub until his knuckles turn white, hands begin to slip as his facade distorts in excruciating pain. 

All Hannibal wants to do is to hold his omega’s hand, but he has to hold the babies and if they turn, he might have to get his hand inside to move them. A continuous and pained, low and guttural cry emits from Nigel, as Hannibal begins to see the sign of the baby pushing through the stretched entrance. Easing a hand inside the slick rim, he moves the first baby around a little to make the painful push a bit assuaged. 

The first baby, Alexander finally comes out, half-submerged in the warm water for him to adjust to the outside environment and Hannibal checks to make sure the air passages are clear as he does not make a sound. His clinical and medical doctor side taking over now, he wipes the vernix clean, the thick white greasy liquid that’s covering the baby. Finally hearing the baby cry as he begins to breath, his deft hand moves down to ready for the second baby. 

Drenched in sweat and feeling the veins rise to his temple and neck, Nigel’s muscles taut as he gives the final push, feeling the second baby’s head push through his entrance. “Ahh!! Fuck! Is it out yet?” 

Putting the first baby around the dry towel, he quickly moves to get the second baby, Neil, almost out as the last hard push gets all of the baby’s body out into the warm water. Neil immediately begins to cry, the sound echoing through the tiled walls. 

Nigel’s bent legs trembling and his whole drained body melting onto the surface of the tub, he strains to breath as the thundering heartbeat pushes against his throat. “Th-they’re all fucking okay.” 

Wiping the vernix off from Neil as well and holding both twins in his arms, Hannibal’s smile widens, beaming down as the sunset begins to paint the sky in chromatic hues, basking his omega with warm glows. “You did well, I love you so much. Why don’t I put these twins to bed and you can get much-deserved rest.”


	50. "A Fucking Third Time"

Propped by an elbow on the bed, lounging and looking through different men’s motorcycle apparel websites, Nigel glances at the clock and notices that it is well past the time his brother’s soft oxford footsteps ring against the staircase. Seven fucking thirty pm. His stomach growling as he rubs over his taut abdomen, he rolls his eyes annoyingly and grunts out, the keys jangling against his hand as he stomps downstairs. Hurriedly pulling his leather jacket and pulling on the jeans, that had been flung across the couch with inside out, he slams the door shut and goes over to Hannibal’s office in a haste. This is a fucking third time he’s picking up his brother’s ass in a month, after he had been drunken off his ass at the office.

His recent purchase, hastened by his brother, A Ducati Multistrada with customized engine and chrome plate, swiftly swerves and pulls over in front of Hannibal’s office entrance with a great roar. Swiftly pulling the keys as the ignition turns off, he barges inside the office door. The first thing he notices is the fire in the fireplace, but was in a danger of smoldering. Not recently tended as it is about to go out, the lamp on Hannibal’s desk is the only lighting up the shadows creeping in from the windows. Nigel would usually find his brother color coding the patient notes or sketching in the pad after the hours or sometimes, he’d been found cleaning the already clean and spacious desk, the OCD taking over his twin as everything had to be in the right angle and place.

The most unsettling part was that Hannibal hadn’t reacted to the sound of his loud entrance or the door slamming shut. His brother’s hair slightly mussed and askew and from the angle where Nigel had been standing, he couldn’t see if his brother was breathing.

Oh, fuck no…. Now what?

With a dramatic sigh, Nigel walks towards the desk, rounding it to get in front of his brother, who was slouched against the desk with his arm propping his head up. The first thing he checks is if Hannibal is bleeding. No traces of blood anywhere. That’s a relief.

Pressing two fingers on Hannibal’s clammy skin on the neck, Nigel manages to catch a fluttering heartbeat. Hannibal’s other hand that had been thrown off around his knee wraps around Nigel’s wrist, first, clamping with a force and squeezing it tightly, but what’s alarming was that his brother’s grip faltered and grew weaker as the minute passed.

“You’re fucking sick, we need to get you home so you can properly rest, not in here.” Nigel can feel the heat rising off of his brother’s shoulder, the fevered heat upon the skin as Nigel’s hand glides across his brother’s forehead. It comes back all wet and clammy.

“Nigel?” Hannibal’s eyes drift open as he lifts his head, his eyes only half-open and his irises still liquid and foggy. “I must have fallen asleep after the last appointment. What time is it?” His lips twitch and tilts slightly upward, a telltale sign that he was trying to put on a warm smile. It fails to go up and his face slack even more as a string of groan emits from his parted mouth.

“A quarter until eight. You fucking are under the weather.” Lifting Hannibal’s head, Nigel notices the sickly pallidness taking over his brother’s usual healthy glow and dark circles under his normally alert set of maroon eyes.

“Come on, I’m fucking taking the Bentley and you’re not fucking deathly ill, so you can get your goddamn ass up.” Lighting his smoke and taking a languid puff, he puts the fire off and lazily looks around the meticulously cleaned office. “You have been fucking cleaning when you should’ve come home. Fuck lord, Hannibal.”

“Of course, I’m not fucking dying, Nigel. I may require some assistance though. I haven’t felt this sick and… frail before.” Leaning against the backrest of the chair, Hannibal sighs and closes his eyes. When Nigel circles around the office and runs his finger against traffic light color coded rows of leather-bound notebooks, his brother looks to be in a danger of falling asleep again. “Come on, get your fucking pudgy ass up. You can sleep all the fucking time you want when I get you home.”

Hannibal groans as he leans his weight against the armrest of the chair and the edge of the desk. Looping his arm around Hannibal’s broad shoulder, Nigel grunts as his brother leans against him, hearing the shallowness of his brother’s breath and the growing heat spreading into the air around him. “Gimme your fucking keys and don’t fucking tell me you’re gonna reject eating sweet and sour soup from my favorite Chinese joint. I’ll even get you some spicy chicken if you can down that.” Beckoning with his fingers, Nigel watches his brother relinquish his keys and he helps Hannibal put on the overcoat, playfully smacking him in the back.


	51. "A Fucking Third Time" - A continuation

The fifteen-minute drive back to their house is dead quiet. Not a single ounce of their usual bantering or squabbling taking place as Nigel watches his brother doze off through his peripheral vision. As soon as Hannibal gets inside the passenger side, he slumps down with his cheek pressed against the cool window. Having not driven a four-wheeled vehicle for quite some time, Nigel struggles a bit at the beginning. The drive is slower than usual with the heavy torrential rain upon them and the rush hour traffic, the visibility reduced to only few feet in front of him. The petrichor taking over the comfortable Bentley as it pulls smoothly in front of their house right by the porch, their preferred entrance to the kitchen. 

Hannibal is slouched forward with his chin digging into his chest, dark and slightly damp locks draping over his clammy forehead when the car halts. If Nigel had the strength to carry more broader and heavier twin up the stairs, he would leave his older twin to continue to sleep, but since he doesn’t, he walks over to the other side as soon as the engine stops, not minding his wool sweater getting wet. He’d just leave the leather jacket inside the car for time being and the weather. The rain thumps against the wide window and Nigel is soaked wet in an instant. Gently opening the passenger side door and with a shake of the shoulder from Nigel, Hannibal rouses and noticeably becomes dizzy, queasy feeling taking over, although he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast this morning. 

Helping Hannibal peeling off the overcoat, draping it over on the couch in the living room and leading him up to the master suite, Nigel helps his brother to ease out of all the layers drenched with cold sweat. “You need to fucking eat something and take some medicine.” Pulling his soaked wet sweater over his head, Nigel watches his brother, who had been slumped over the bed on his side, curled up and about to fall asleep again. 

“Hey, pudgy-ass, wake up, you’re not fucking sleeping in those godawful plaid suit pants and damp shirt.” Tugging Hannibal’s limp limbs upward and stripping his brother down to his tight boxers. “I’m gonna try to cook something for both of us without fucking burning down the goddamn kitchen. We still have that fucking thigh meat from the fucker? I’m gonna cook fucking mac and cheese and you’re gonna eat it gratefully. You need to eat before taking the damn medicine.” Helping Hannibal dress in thick pair of pajama pants and undershirt, Nigel leaves his brother alone as he storms out to descend the stairs. 

His eyes still half-shut and feeling less composed and well than he had ever been, Hannibal flops down on the mattress with one sleeve still out of his arm, groaning as the heavy rain smacking the window becomes a mere white noise. He is asleep before he even hears his brother’s loud steps on the staircase. 

When Nigel brings a tray full of items, including a bottle of aspirin from the medical cabinet, a glass of lukewarm water and a whole pot of mac and cheese with seared meat chunks with two forks sticking up to their bed, Hannibal is fitfully sleeping with rather uncomfortable position. Putting the steaming pot on the pillowcase and tugging Hannibal’s arm in the proper armhole, he strokes Hannibal’s chest, sneaking up an arm inside the undershirt. The skin is still warm and he can feel the tremor and erratic heartbeat reverberate against his palm. “Have some bites of this, you’ll feel better, the meat is fucking tender, tenderized to perfection. Nice job.” 

Nodding and sighing as Hannibal takes the first bite of cheesy cheddar pieces of macaroni, he hums in satisfaction, relishing the side that he doesn’t get to see often. “I should make you cook more often in the kitchen if I get to be treated like this.” Pecking a gentle kiss on Hannibal’s cheek, Nigel slides off the bed to retrieve a thicker blanket from the walk-in closet inside the cedar chest. His pace even more slower than usual as he blearily watches his brother’s hips sway. 

Helping Hannibal to lean against the headboard and sharing the food together, Nigel helps to stroke his brother’s tense muscles and lymph node to ease the sinuses and wheezing breaths, just like how his brother had done. Once the pot is half-empty, he discards the pot on the nightstand and retrieves the bottle of aspirin, taking out two tablets. “Take these and go to sleep, I’ll hold you until you do.” 

Swallowing the pills and washing them down with the water, Hannibal combs his damp locks and eases down onto the bed rather unceremoniously. Pulling the covers and blanket over his brother’s shoulders, Nigel tugs Hannibal closer against his chest. Hannibal’s shoulders slouched and his body lax, he feels more smaller than he usually is, almost shrinking. Feeling the fevered heat instantly making his eyes to shut and groan out, Hannibal’s eyes immediately close and he falls into a slumber, deeper than the one before. 

Winding an arm around Hannibal’s stomach and as he leans further against and pushes his back against his, Nigel rubs his cheek against his brother’s, feeling the heat rise. In contrast, Hannibal’s body still trembles as his hand keeps stroking his brother’s stomach. “Bonne nuit, mon chere frere. Sweet dreams.” Returning the words that he had heard merely a few days ago, he pecks a kiss on Hannibal’s neck, feeling still frantic heartbeat thump under his full lips.


	52. Twins with their Halloween Costumes

A big black shopping bag gets thrown in front of Hannibal as Nigel storms inside through the porch, the lingering smell of cigarette upon his leather jacket as the last puff leaves his sensuous lips. “I fucking want you to try these right fucking now. I want us to have some fun in the bedroom for a goddamn special occasion.” 

Hannibal’s eyebrows raise as he suspiciously looks inside the content of the bag, two huge velvety black box wrapped with a gold ribbon around each of it. “For Halloween? I didn’t expect this at all from you.” Maintaining his stoicism as he loosens the tie a bit, his maroon orbs widen as his head sticks out, failing to hide his curiosity. 

Leaning against the center island of the kitchen as Nigel watches his brother peeking inside the oven, he drags Hannibal’s hand by the wrist and brings him over to the living room. “How much fucking time until the dish is done?” Hannibal responds, “About an hour, the roast has been in there for a quite a while and should be done by then.” Nodding as the fragrant aroma of the root vegetables and herbs invade his nostrils, dancing across the kitchen as he hears the surface of the meat sizzle, he takes the two flat and wide boxes out. “One for you, one for me.”

Nigel’s smirk widens as he chuckles, flipping the lids off rather dramatically. His leather pants are the first to be presented, the flap between the legs offering the easy access to his erection, they’d be skin-tight. Accompanying leathery button-down and leather jacket follows, along with the cop hat. “You, in a fucking cop hat.” Hannibal’s eyes raise a bit, but he can’t hide his excitement as he paints the picture of Nigel in those form-fitting leather apparel. 

“And… Most fucking important thing is, yours, of course.” With a tug as he widely smirks, Nigel lifts up a customized corset, a black one with red accents visible under carefully constructed layers, not too feminine, but with intricate vertical patterns that would accentuate his brother’s statuesque body with the shape of an inverted triangle, muscular wide shoulders and narrow waist. And garter belts that hook around the end of the corset, a laced pattern on the top with transparent stocking that would fare well with his brother’s long and muscular legs. The low-rise panties would make Hannibal’s cock peek out on the top, smooth head visible against the hem of the corset. 

“We don’t even have to go inside the fucking walk-in closet or bathroom to change.” Pulling Hannibal by the waist, Nigel sneaks a hand inside his brother’s torso, feeling the muscles underneath tighten. “Or, I should just fucking bend you over and pound your goddamn ass before I get you in those lingerie.” 

His hand still running around on the top of the corset, Hannibal leans back against his brother and shudders as his red sweater is quickly tugged over his head and gets thrown across the kitchen table. “I’m suggesting that you dress me up and then fuck me over on the table. Wouldn’t you like that better?” His voice dripping with honey, he turns around to kiss Nigel on the neck, feeling the vein throb underneath his warm lips. “I want you to help me get into these then rip all the fucking things off.”


	53. Nigel's Phobia

Waking up with a soft gasp, Nigel’s sleepy eyes glance at the clock on the nightstand. Three fucking thirty am. Hannibal is sound asleep right in front of him, close enough to feel his brother’s heartbeat thump against his slightly frantic one and an arm around his torso. Sensing movement, Hannibal’s arm tightens around Nigel’s lean waist, pulling the younger twin closer. Nigel’s breathing flutters, the dream had been disturbing the peace of mind. It’s like his brain had been ransacked with drugs again, during the most depressing years in his life.

The reason he had stayed inside the club after business hours was to let himself immerse and envelop in the energy of the crowd. Even though after all those people had left the club and there was only blackness surrounding him in the underground, smoke-filled nightclub, he could almost hear the bustling youngsters, wasting and drinking the night away just like how he had been after Hannibal had left to the States. In his subconscious and when he got high on drugs, succumbing to the ‘dope fiend,’ he would hear hallucinations of people keeping the company with him, having a casual conversations and small talks, him teasing and flirting with sexual innuendos with the gals and dudes alike, but never having an interest of having sexual intercourses with any of them. The sticky mess in his office and with his laptop had proven that he was lonely and desperate. Since Hannibal, of course, he had more than one partners, although transient and short-lived. No one had been able to satisfy his needs, nor as great a sexual partner than his brother had been.

So why was he having such a dream, after a long night of their usual, intense lovemaking? The scent still permeated the air around him as he took a long inhale, trying to calm his breathing. Not an usual nightmare where he had dreamt one of his suicide attempts, but it was something else, with him at the lowest nadir, letting himself succumb to the addictive substance as he sought for more euphoric feelings, more angry and hostile, volatile and reckless as he had ever been.

Sliding off from the bed as Nigel struggles to fall back to sleep, his naked figure shines under the soft moonlight. Full moon, with the fireplace smoldering as it crackles the last hint of warmth. Sighing, his barefoot pads through the threshold of their master suite and puts more log inside the fireplace, watching the cocooned flame arise and grow into a orange and golden ball of warmth. Perhaps fire and he shared many of similar characteristics. Never put down, although he had stepped himself over multiple of times, the burning energy had been contained inside him, having the potential to cause a wildfire.

As Nigel takes a languid puff of his cigarette, Hannibal is standing behind him with his nose buried in the crook of his neck. “Come back to bed, I can’t really sleep without you next to me.” A warm and broad hand running across the planes of his brother’s lean stomach, Hannibal pecks a soft kiss, a hum rattling from his chest as his body presses more against Nigel’s. 

“Abandonment, losing someone who is your fucking home, the only home in the goddamn world. And when that happens you just fucking crumble down like the building falling into ruin. I had to excavate the ruins to find the real genuine me and that does not exist without you in it.”

Turning around to face Hannibal as Nigel’s eyes sparkle with arousal, he pushes his brother off to the edge of the bed, with his legs hanging off to touch the ground. His broad hand spreading the thighs apart as a hand grabs onto his brother’s hardening cock.

“You are going to like what I got you for your birthday gift. I was going to give it to you in the morning, but it seems rather fucking appropriate as it pertains to my dream.” A gold-capped handgun slides out from under the bed with the inscription, ‘love forever, Nigel.’

With a mischievous smirk and a seductive tone upon his voice, Nigel licks the barrel of the gun and his hand hovers around Hannibal’s entrance. “And you sure fucking know where this beauty is gonna go.” Lasciviously licking the length, his hold on his brother’s cock tighten.

If you ever fucking leave me again, then I’m killing you and ending my fucking life as well. Let it be fucking known.


	54. The Last Hallucination

An abrupt knock on the front door rouses Nigel, who had been slumped against the living room couch in a trance-like state. A faint line of white dust on the table in front of him, the long night of insomnia and succumbing to debauchery throughout all night is still visible around him. Empty bottles of whiskey squalidly trashed around the carpeted floor, along with the heavy layer of ash piled up on the persian rug and a mound of butts shoved inside the ashtray. Leaving the room awfully in a mess, he wobbles to get his slovenly self up, his favorite dachshund shirt stained with cum and liquor and his jeans all rumpled and soiled.

“I’ve come to deliver your brother’s letter.” Hannibal’s lawyer hands him the letter with a sympathetic gaze. The rush of cold air hits his face and he crosses his arms in front of his chest, as he was in a thin short-sleeve in middle of November. Nigel doesn’t even have to ask what the letter is about as his bloodshot eyes stare at the stationary, his name written in his brother’s elegant cursive. As soon as he gets the letter in his grip, he leans against the doorframe and tears open the envelope. As he reads the words, he could still feel the impression of the pen behind the paper, how his brother had written it with his usual meticulousness. Growing liquid with each word, a fat drop stains the beige, heavyweight paper and his eyes begin to sting more.  _You damn fucking bastard._

_ My dearest brother, _

_ Soon you will hear news of my death. I won’t be so presumptive as to assume that you’ll mourn for me after all that I put you through. I don’t deserve your tears. I never did. The image of you breaking down has haunted me since the day I walked away. Every moment since then, I’ve wanted to tell you the truth. As time went by, I realized it didn’t matter why I did what I did. I broke the heart of the only one who ever loved me. There are no words to convey how sorry I am that I ruined both our lives. I don’t ask for your forgiveness. I only ask that when you think back on our time together you think of me as the big brother I once was. The one who followed you around with puppy dog eyes, who could never get enough of you. The one who loved you with every breath he took. _

_ I will always love you. _

_ Hannibal _

The lawyer is discreet enough to leave Nigel alone as he steps away. Immediately having noticed the twin’s less than put together state, the man walks away with the last remark. “Take care of yourself, Nigel.”

Storming inside the room even before he hears the words of Hannibal’s lawyer ring against his ears, the door shuts behind him and he immediately collapses, his back heavily hitting the door as he covers his face with his large hands. Heavy breaths lifting his chest, his palpitating heartbeat strains his already trashed heart. Every breath he is taking right now feels like something he doesn’t deserve. If he could see his brother once more, puppy-eyed, or with them bantering like bunch of goddamn children, or better, engage in their ardent lovemaking.

Gathering all of his supplies scattered around the floor and couch, determined, he walks upstairs to the master suite. The room he dared not to walk inside since his brother’s incarceration. His feeble attempt to keep his brother’s scent encased. As soon as he opens the door, a more wanton sob rattles his chest as he rips his shirt open, inhaling the familiar scent he longed so much.

Living with his brother had heightened his olfactory sense and out of a million people, he’d find his twin with the scent alone. Every article coming off as his movements are becoming like a hypnotized individual, a steamy water fills the bathtub, where they had made love countless times. Situating himself inside the tub and dropping all the contents inside his hand on the edge, easily reachable, he loads up on the cocaine and shoots it through his fat vein, already littered with many punctured marks.

Like usual, Hannibal is on top and facing him, his brother’s dark bangs fringing in front of his face. Already hard and his heart thundering as their bodies press and the steam rises off from their shared arousal and water, the sensation is intensified through the drug, the euphoric feeling is transient and it fades rather quickly. Hannibal’s broad and muscular figure evaporating into the thin air as his dilated pupils stare blankly as thick stripes of pearly white paints his chest for the last time, muttering his brother’s name through his clenched teeth. Bathing in his tears and sweat.

The police comes inside the house a day later, finding the untidy mess in the living room. Some shakes their heads, remembering the bloodbath inside the kitchen few years ago. After clearing the first floor, they move onto the second floor and finds something that will make some puke on the floor.

Water tinged with thick, crimson shades and the strong sunlight breaking through the small window, the ray lights Nigel’s rather serene and placid face, his head tilted and an arm hanging off the edge of the bathtub with a slit wrist. heavy pool of crimson still wet and emitting a pungent iron-rich scent, his other hand holds Hannibal’s last letter, crumbled and wet with his tear, the letters smeared off. His pocket knife straight into his heart.


	55. The Last Goodbye

His heart shatters into a million pieces and rains upon him in a confetti, crimson flakes covering him as the last view he sees is his sanguine completely filling his view. The light fading as he takes his last breath. His blown hazel pupils open as the blackness creeps over. The dawn of light basking upon his motionless body, glistening with sweat and sanguine.

* * *

The last time he had heard about Hannibal was from the news and from his associates disposed in the States. Previously, he had been there and his brother had refused to see him, while he had been imprisoned in Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane and then he had to return back to Romania the day after. Their incestuous and ardent relationship abruptly cut short by Hannibal’s sudden departure to America and after decades of evading the law enforcement, why was he apprehended all of a sudden? Nigel still couldn’t understand the reason why. Perhaps Hannibal overlooked something, a crack in his clever scheming to be caught. He wasn’t the one to leave any traceable evidence or leaving predictable motives. It was the exact reason why FBI couldn’t track Hannibal’s crimes all those years.

As he wasn’t a stranger to using his tenacity and machinations. Ambitious and violent. Perhaps possibly the luckiest man on the earth as he narrowly escaped death, although he had intended to commit suicide by cop  when his heart turned out of the blue for that runty cunt Charlie and his darling Gabi. His heart already been shattered once, he’d rather exit this life than having to go through it again. Now with his recent memories erased from his conscious mind as he recovered from the gunshot, two years of his life was zapped as blank as a white canvas. Nevertheless, his unending love towards Hannibal still remained inside his mind, repressed deep inside his mind.

With all of his blissful, yet self-destructive years spent with Gabi gone, his corporeality still craves and searches for the substances. A lifetime drug addict and a binge drinker, the old habits didn’t die quickly. Shooting up and snorting angel powder, as well as downing whatever hooch he could get in his hand, he begins to hallucinate as he sprawls on his bed. Not unlike the cramped twin-sized bed they used to have inside their Paris apartment. Now alone in his squalid flat in Bucharest.

Beginning to see the familiar sight, Hannibal’s memory palace, Norman Chapel in Palermo, vast even by medieval standards. His brother living there with his extensive collections lining thousand rooms, hundreds of corridors for him to explore. There were rooms Hannibal couldn’t even explore, which meant Nigel had even fewer access to them, despite him having been his brother’s sexual and romantic interest and being a blood and flesh, even more than that at times. Brilliant and twisted. Nigel knows he holds some of the keys, but not a lot. Seeing the skull engraven on the floor, he knows he’s going to see his brother’s face soon enough.  If Hannibal had his memory palace to live there if he wanted to, he relied on earthly goods. Sex, booze, drugs. Something more basic and animalistic. There was no human veil and mnemonic device for him to retreat to. He had continued with his self-destructive tendencies.

* * *

The first thing that comes into the view is a man, who is impressive in his physique, bloodied and sprawled dead on the ground. The blood pattern similar to that of wings. Then, he sees his brother and Will Graham, the man who he had only known as FBI special agent who had an empathy from international news,  in the similar state, throwing themselves off to the bluff as they take a descent towards the tempestuous, murky and dark water below. Then, something like a static electricity hinders his view and now two men are in a remote town, near the woods, happy with each other. The thing that breaks his heart even more is watching Hannibal’s beaming face, surrounded with dogs, cooking inside the house, bringing out homemade French onion soup they used to eat as adolescent boys. He could even smell the fragrant aroma of the broth and cheese oozing and seared on top. While he had been spiralling down into a descent of letting himself drown with liquor and drug, his brother was happy all the time, despite all the scars littered on his face and body, things he hadn’t been aware of until now.

               _“So, after all these fucking years of searching after you, this is how it ends.”_

_“Well, you were the one who denied me of forgiveness.”_

* * *

_ So this is how it ends, after all those fucking years of trying to reach out. I wasn’t ready to forgive you when you sought after me and now you’re all fucking damn happy without me. _

Done with himself, done with his crumbling business due to his lack of presence and carelessness and done with chasing Hannibal, his gold-capped handgun, meant to be given to his brother as a birthday gift long time ago as the engraving still feels fresh under his fingertips.  _‘Love Forever, Hannibal.’_ Those words becoming daggers, he had failed to take the matter into his hands as he evaded the sure way of killing himself. Checking the hammer spur of the gun for bullets, the cold metal points to his temple and the searing pain rips through his head.

Werther had to die to resolve the love triangle and indeed, Nigel was to go in this instance, not because he was going to chase Hannibal and Will down and hurt them or even more so, kill them, just like he had become Werther in his head. He feels every ounce of pain soaring through his body as the bullet goes through and through. His body spasming and convulsing, he knows he has a concave trauma on his head and one of his legs is broken due to his fall.

It takes exactly twelve hours for Nigel to die. 


	56. Falsely Accused

“Because I haven’t fucking done shit and you’re making it sound like I am guilty as fuck. That’s fucking why I feel the need to threaten you.” Nigel snarls and glares at the officer who had interrogated him. The detective had been accusing him of killing someone in the dim and deserted alleyway around 2am last night, not too far from the bar he had been drinking the night away.

“I’m not fucking making any of those up, if you’re a fucking smartass, ask the eye witnesses at the bar. It was a pretty crowded night, so every motherfuckers who were in the bar should know. I just wanted to get fucking wasted and some asshole dragged me into the fucking middle of it.” His clothes had been covered in blood of the dead guy, happened to be Darko, his dear partner who he supposedly killed nearby the huge dumpster. He has no recollections of being there and since his DNA was all over the place, he was the one and only prime suspect, just turned a murderer. He wasn’t foreign to killing people as he did with his brother, but nothing that could pinpoint him for all the crimes that he had committed. 

When the officer asks him about the night’s events, Nigel rubs between his eyebrows and ponders with a brooding expression as he tries his best to remember an hour of two missing from the last night’s series of unfortunate events. “I’m fucking trying and I just can’t, don’t remember any of the fucking shit.” he concludes as his expression stills, clearly thrown off that now he’s going to be arrested, just like that. “You’re under arrest for the first-degree murder of Darko…. “ The officer’s words merely becoming the white noise as his hands curls in fists and he bangs against the desk in front of him. “I fucking don’t believe in God, there’s no fucking God. My life just screws and twists itself up. I don’t need fucking God to intervene whatever the fuck this is.” The handcuffs snugly cuffed around his wrists and the sound of metal clicking behind his back infuriates him even further, he is lead to the holding cell before being transported to the jail.

Clenching his teeth to make himself calm, but rather failing, Nigel’s head shudders in anger. Infuriated, he is sure that someone framed him. Although he doesn’t get appalled when he sees blood and he is rather turned on by it, he wasn’t the type to bash in someone’s skull until their face becomes mush and unrecognizable. The officer tells him that’s what exactly happened. It wasn’t his preferred method to kill. He closes his eyes momentarily to let the heated anger go through his body until it subsides, the huge tempestuous tsunami stilling into the sea during the thunderstorm. As much as he wanted to lash out, more charges won’t do him any good at this point.

Standing and opening his eyes back up again, he growls at the officer leading him. “Have you ever gave the fucking thought to your puny brain of yours if I fucking bashed in Darko’s head, my knuckles would’ve been fucking torn up and be bloodied by now? My goddamn hands are clean, although the fucking evidence says otherwise. Even with my big hands, skulls are fucking thick, you fucking shit.” With a roll of his eyes, “At this fucking screwed up position, I don’t want to call any one of those motherfucking bastards I call associates, I’ll just call my brother. I fucking don’t have a clue who to fucking trust anymore.”

The last call before going inside the holding cell, the officers help call Hannibal, who should be sound asleep by then, probably thinking that Nigel is at his work, at the club, bartending or working as a bouncer if the spot emptied. “Hannibal, fucking Christ. I’ve been framed for goddamn murder and now I’m at fucking holding cell. I’ll be transported to jail, probably twenty to fucking life if I don’t get out of this hellhole.” As soon as Hannibal’s sleepy voice breaks his eardrum, Nigel’s elevated voice echoes through the room.

Scurrying as Hannibal swiftly gets out of the bed and pulling whatever casual clothes he can throw on rather haphazardly, he mutters frantically under his breath.  _What the fuck have you done, Nigel. Why so fucking careless after all those years of evading the law enforcement?_ An exasperated sigh breaking the silence and emptiness of the master suite, he is downstairs and locking the front door in a record time of five minutes, coming his mussed hair with his hand as he shuts the driver side of the Bentley.

Knitting his brows and letting his face cloud over, Nigel walks to the holding cell. The detective who just interrogated him leads him and locks the door behind him and tells him the procedure. “As if this mishap didn’t fucking happen before, I am fucking aware of the procedure, detective.”

The young officer shove him behind the bars and Nigel complains more, giving him more of his vicious and irritated roll of eyes and glowering gaze. “If you were not a fucking piece of cop, you’re fucking dead, you know that? You little piece of shit, you wouldn’t even take my fucking punch and be knocked down in a fucking instant.” Clenching his teeth together, he barks at the officer. The officer merely scoffs and locks the door, hitting the bar with his baton, ordering him to stay put and don’t make any more scene.

“Like that fucking useless stick will scare me.” He shakes his head and remains nearby the door. “I would fucking advise you to remain seated and shut your damn mouth before I truncheon you down.” The officer smirks and bangs at the bar again before leaving Nigel alone in the holding cell. He turns off the light before he leaves.

The police station where his brother is held is fifteen minutes away and still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Hannibal had been tired. Having to go through some kind of emergency situation with one of the patients, the last remnant of strength that he had was drained by the time he arrived at the house. And now this? Feeling every ounce of his brain under the pressurized cooker as his face begins to crease, as soon as Hannibal arrives at the police station, he asks for his brother.

“Uh, officer? Fuck…” Nigel sits down in the holding cell and he can already feel his heart beat faster than usual. He calls for the officer who had just turned off the lights, but the sound of the officer’s footsteps are already long gone when he says it out loud. He begins to sweat and some even get inside his eyes. His handcuffed hands doesn’t really help as he furrows, rapidly blinking to get the salty sweat out of his eyes. His heart beating more frantically now, he begins to pant as the fear slowly creeps onto him.

Tears brimming around the corner of his eyes, he pushes them out by closing his eyes. “Fuck….. Breath, it’s not your fucking first time in a fucking cell. Goddamnit!” Sticking his lips outward, he begins to exhale deeply, attempting to calm his palpating breathing. When he opens his eyes back, the feeling of the walls closing in becomes much more amplified and the intense feel of fear takes over his brain. His body sliding off of the wall, he slowly passes out against the wall and the bench, his hands clutching at the back of his shirt. Loudly gasping, Nigel’s eyes abruptly open, his pupils dilating under the dark, blinking light. The light bulb just outside his cell is frantically blinking, and then it pops with a smoke as it breaks, making things even worse for him. Springing up from the bench, he frantically walks along the small confines of the holding cell. ‘Fuck, breath, Nigel… You fucking know how to calm this down. You’ve done it before.’

His brain and his heart just doesn’t seem to cooperate today as what he thinks and how his body acts are two completely dissonant things. His heart hammering, ringing so much that it feels like it’s going to drop to his guts and then explode. Small needles prickling his frantically beating heart. Wheezing as he bumps his hard body against the metal bars, he closes his eyes and pants through slack mouth.

Sweating profusely, he looks at the bars through half-lidded eyes and sees them spinning in all directions. Rapidly blinking, his hands starts to tremble. The handcuffs digging into his wrists and the metal clinking against the cell bars. “Fuck! Goddamn it… This can’t… fucking happen to me. Fucking Christ…” He desperately holds the metal bars and clenches his teeth.

Striding across the threshold of the office as Hannibal walks closely behind the officer who leads him to the holding cell, the door creaks open and the first thing he notices is it’s stark blackness. Not even a small window inside the cell. Fucking shit, knowing what this does to his brother, he fights the urge to knock the police office there and then. Of course it wouldn’t be the right place nor the time. He’d take care of officer Brown later in his own manner. “Leave the fucking door open.” He barks, standing close to the metal bars as he sees Nigel desperately holding them. “Breath, fuck. Like I told you. You can do it, see, there’s light seeping through the door.”

The officer leaves the twins alone as a pang of sympathy strikes him, walking away with the door open and hands Hannibal a small lamp, where he plugs it up and places it near his brother, who is trying to recuperate from the panic attack. With Hannibal’s touch on his sweaty back, his heartrate retains its normal rhythm as his head thumps against the bars. “I need a fucking damn good lawyer for this, why the fuck would I kill my lifelong partner without any fucking reason?”  _And kill that damn bastard. I know you’re going to get me the fuck outta here._


	57. Hannibal's Deathbed

The work at the club had been going smoothly, having taken over one of the bartenders who was absent due to family illness. He had been understanding as if the situation reversed and one of his family members was severely injured, he’d be frantic just like the young man had been. There was not a moment when he thought he’d go through what his employee was experiencing, breaking down in front of the other co-workers. He had advised him, with his characteristic profanity refrained as he tried his best to comfort him. While he had been patting his employee, bidding him luck as his flight to Seattle, where his family resided was merely two hours away, he had gotten a text from Hannibal.

[text: dear brother] Driving back to Baltimore from that conference, will be home around 2am.

[text: dear brother] I’ll be wide awake as I have caffeinated before driving. I can’t wait to see you, as I missed you so much.

Hannibal had been disposed in NY for a psychiatric conference for three long days and as usual, relentless teasing and lecherous texts, photos and even videos of themselves thinking about each other and jerking off had been exchanged. Hannibal had promised Nigel to get a leather jacket he had eyed on for a while, from the new F/W catalogue from motorcycle apparel magazine. Nigel had been more discreet to hide his own surprise, finally having the courage to propose the marriage as he had planned a small ceremony inside their house, with a presentation of simple black titanium with silver accented bands with their name inside the ring with Lecter crest on top of the ring, a row of diamonds adorning the silver lines, making the band sparkle as the infinity symbol overlapped the crest.

Knowing Hannibal would be home, but having not received any texts or calls as his busy work continued, as it had been Friday night going into Saturday, the most busiest time in the club. The hours flew by and he hadn’t realized until his work shift ended around 5am. No calls or texts from Hannibal, but a number he does not know had called him many times, about 20 minutes in interval since 2:20am.

Sauntering towards his bike after puffing much needed smoke, he returns the call, thinking that it wouldn’t be anything of importance. “Hello? I’m returning your call because you fucking have called me like ten goddamn times over the past three hours…”

“Is this Nigel Lecter’s phone?” The woman on the opposite line carefully begins, her voice sympathetic.

“Yeah, that’d be fucking right, what’s up?” His smoke hanging off his lips, his low and husky voice permeates the cold fall night air.

“Hi, calling from the Johns Hopkins ER. There had been an accident near the shoreline. A huge one, in fact. five cars smashed into each other and… Your brother’s car was the one which had a rear-end collision and as it thudded against the oncoming trailer, the car made its descent about six-story high bluff. He is severely injured and is in the surgery right now.”

Even before the nurse informs him with further details, the cigarette drops from his lips and he is on the bike in a haste, making the usual twenty-minute trip in ten minutes sharp.

His heart about to explode outside the ribcage and frantically beating against his throat, he already feels like as if he had run a full-distance marathon. “Where the fuck is Hannibal now?” Storming inside the ER room as he barks, the nurse who had called him immediately notices Nigel’s usual profanity and his husky tone. She leads him into the waiting room and elaborates how much Hannibal had been injured.

“He has a concave skull fracture, five broken ribs, shattered hipbones, broken thigh and arm. The most severe one is obviously the head injury, as we have to monitor for intracranial pressure. The neurosurgeon has been doing his best and the surgery will take at least five or six more hours.”

It is 5:20am now. Which means the surgery had started at least two or two and half hours before. Was this a fucking karma, something that he never imagined happening. Although his words towards his employee had been a genuine one, no one would weigh how comforting the sincere and wholehearted word can solace the one who desperately needs it.

A myriad of emotions streams inside his consciousness like a tsunami. All the excitement and elation turning into infuriation and enragement towards the driver who had been behind the wheel with well over the legal alcohol limit. There was just no fucking way his brother would be so careless to be involved in an accident like this.

Already exhausted from the work and the emotional distress not helping his restless mind, he begins to nod off, but his mind is never at ease to completely fall asleep. All he ever wanted to do was to have Hannibal in his arms, scent his familiar musk and sandalwood, feeling the broader and hard body press against him and to spend time in front of the fireplace as they made love. Hitting the back of his head against the wall and the side once again as he continues to drowse, the nurse carefully rouses him up with a serious expression after unpredictable amount of hours. Nigel figures it’s late morning/early afternoon, judging by how much sunlight breaks through the large window opposite him. Still not out of sleep as he rubs it away from his eyes, he swallows and sighs, his chest fluttering as he holds back his tears.

“Well, he’s out of the surgery, but things don’t look good. He’s fading quickly and I wanted to give you the time to…” The nurse pats Nigel’s shoulder, her tone dripping with empathy.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” As unartful words spring out of him as his chin lifts, a fat stream of tear wets his sharp cheekbones. His fingers mindlessly stroking the small black velvet box he had as a surprise. He had just picked up the bands before work and immediately had wanted to surprise him.

Ushered into the ICU, his drained face disappears behind his broad hands as he registers his brother’s form. Covered in bandages, he could still see the blood seeping out from them. Connected to all kinds of machines, his vitals looked grim. His pressure too high, his heartbeat elevated and the transfusion still on him, along with other IV fluids hooked onto the crook of his brother’s elbow. His pallid face covered in an oxygen mask, his toned, broad physique looking smaller and almost shriveling away.

His whole visage glistening with tears and as he wantonly sobs and snivels, uncaring about the doctor and nurse around him tweaking the apparatus connected to the machines. His hand brushing and cupping Hannibal’s hand as a tear falls on his arm, where bandages didn’t cover, his affectionate touches on his twin’s unpierced arm continues until the vital machine begins to beep frantically, the heartrate begins to decline and the pressure is through the roof. A massive hemorrhage at an imminent risk. 

Utterly thrown off by the ringing sound of the machine, Nigel’s fingers curl and nails dig into his arm, knuckles turning white as his hold on the box tightens. Fuck no, please, you can fucking survive this.

“He just had a major surgery and he was stabilized through injection of anticoagulants, in order to prevent hemorrhages, we can’t minister any more of it or we would jeopardize his vitality even more.” The neurosurgeon grimly addresses and sighs. Nigel doesn’t have to ask anyone as the reality registers. Hannibal is going to die.

The excruciatingly slow minute passes and the vital machine draws a continuous line, a steady beep the most annoying and sorrowful thing as Nigel collapses against Hannibal’s chest. Medical personnel discreetly leaves him alone after declaring the time of death. November 18th, 12:03pm.

It’s like going through the motions. Already feeling lifeless and floating, his state of mind is blank as he takes out the band, putting it on Hannibal’s ring finger, as well as in his. A trembling hand stroking his brother’s lifeless body once more as he kisses the limp hand above the ring and then on the palm, his eyes flutter close as he weeps more.

When the nurse enters the ICU after an indefinite amount of time, as she didn’t detect any movements, she enters to collect Hannibal’s body. Instead, she finds a set of bodies covered in Nigel’s blood and brain matter. The bloody gun on the floor, the bullet had entered through the back of his head, lodging inside Hannibal’s heart. Nigel’s eyes are still wide open, pupils slightly dilated under the bright light of the ward. The corner of his lip arched up in a faint smile.


	58. This is Gonna be Good

Bedelia had been cooperative until her end. On the lam with her had been convenient, posing as a couple as he had taken over the identity of the couple, an Italian couple who had been vacationing in Paris. Leaving Bedelia’s lifeless body inside the house and thoroughly ridding the evidence that will point him as the killer, Hannibal had wanted to visit his brother, Nigel. The last time he heard, he had been living in Romania, continuing his self-destructive way of succumbing to lifelong substance abuse and ongoing volatile life as all he remembered had been tending to his brother’s wound. Their intense and short lived, passionate and fervent adolescent years long behind them, they still texted and called, but the frequency drastically reduced as ongoing romantic and sexual relationship they used to have was merely reduced to obligatory greetings and trite small talks. Then, even that failed to take place for the past couple of years.

The last address provided by Nigel in his hand as he gets off from the plane lands at Bucharest Henri Coandă International Airport, his heart thumps in excitement as well as apprehension, all the countless feelings towards his brother surges during twenty-minute ride from the airport to the heart of the city. As the familiar building distances closer, the red brick wall building that has seen its better days, he had visited Nigel twice or three times before, but this time felt different. As if it had been a premonition, he witnesses a hit and run on one of the major Boulevards, the pedestrian had been instantly killed and the automobile driver had been severely injured as the car had swerved and crashed into the streetlamp. The driver had been intoxicated way over the limit and had not been wearing the seatbelt.

Fifth floor without an elevator. By the time Hannibal had made to the uppermost floor, he knocks the paint chipped door, which says #502. A man, similar to his age answers the door in Romanian, but no Nigel in sight. “I thought Nigel lived here, is he not anymore?” With a tilt of his head, a confusion melts right in his voice as his forehead creases. His grip on the small carry-on tightens, a sweat trickling down the dip of his spine.

“I only heard that the previous owner had been deceased.” With a heavy accent, the man speaks out and shuts the door. The man had not been rude, but still, Hannibal found his calm and collected face tightening, a scowl faintly passes as he turns around, fingers curling even more tightly as nails dig into his palm.  _Deceased? Does this mean Nigel is dead, but… If he truly had been, why didn’t they contact me?_

His mouth slack, utterly shocked that the word that he didn’t want to believe registers, he is oblivious that Nigel had been shot in the head merely weeks after recovering from the gash that rendered him bedridden for several months, was in a coma and was being transferred to Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. Johns Hopkins would’ve been a preferred choice as Hannibal had been residing there since he graduated from there with a doctorate degree, but Nigel’s luck began from there as one of the best neurosurgeons worked on his recovery as he woke up after about six months. With a minimum memory loss and his intracranial pressure stabilized, the risk of internal hemorrhage and other complication drastically reduced. There had been a mishap, as Hannibal Lecter had been on the lam and was wanted by FBI and other international law enforcements all over the world, Nigel’s transportation, along with the information of his injury had remained off from him. Knowing Hannibal wouldn’t show up as most likely he’d not believe his twin would be the one to be rendered comatose. A green cop had mistakenly thought of him as Hannibal.

Since waking up from the coma and recuperating as his motor functions and atrophied muscles regained its strength, few visitors, including one of his associates who had been disposed to expand his business had visited him. Hannibal didn’t lack the resources as he had his way to make untraceable calls to the hospital, requiring information about his brother’s whereabouts. Disguising as one of the former patients of the colleague he knew who had still practiced medicine, Nigel’s unique case had been the topic of the conversation among neurologists and he immediately noticed, even without the patient’s name, had been able to figure out that the unnamed patient was indeed Nigel.

It only took one call to the Massachusetts General Hospital to confirm that Nigel had been rehabilitating there for a month. The drive to Boston is swift, as soon as Hannibal got out of the conference in New York, the drive had felt longer than it was supposed to be. The anticipation building as now he knows his brother is indeed alive and narrowly escaped death.

Signing his false name, an alias he had been using for a quite a while, Roman Fell, with a disguise that would fool even the experts as he switched his appearance often to evade suspicions. When Hannibal entered the ward as the nurse leads him, his heartrate goes through the roof. The fake beard and mustache feels loose as he begins to sweat on the cupid’s bow and more drips down onto his chin from the temple.

Nigel had been inside his personal ward, standing up and leaning against the wall, facing the window as his soft hazel hues looked down the street. From the twelfth floor, the leaves had beautifully turned color and people’s attire had increasingly gotten thicker as they began to bundle up for the upcoming winter. With a soft turn of the knob, Hannibal enters the ward, locking the door behind him. Only two brothers in the room, Hannibal’s baritone voice echoes in the room. “Nigel, it took me two months to find you, but it’s been all worth it.”

His hand removing the fake disguises before Nigel turns around, his lean and angular face appears like one of those Greek marble statues. “Hannibal, I’m sure one of my associates told you I was fucking dead.” I wanted to see if you could find me.

“Oh, I haven’t given up, I never had believed you were dead, not until I was confirmed of it.” Closing the distance as an arm winds around Nigel’s lean waist, Hannibal leans against his brother’s neck, inhaling his scent. The usual scent that he remembered from the past visit, a mix of cigarette, whiskey and heavy musk had been barely there, but he smelled somewhat more nectarous. All those years of longing and wanting crumbling down in an unartful gesture and expression. Much more raw and human than Hannibal had ever been.

“I fucking missed you, too.” Nigel doesn’t remember why he had been shot in the first place, but it was in place of his brother. His ultimate sacrifice. Knowing he had participated in his brother’s older crimes as adolescent and having heard all the crimes on the news, being Hannibal’s twin had many perks and disadvantages. Admitting unending love towards his brother, self-immolation wouldn’t be a bad way to go. “Why don’t you gimme the fucking kiss you’re eager to give me, I fucking know you like the back of my hand when I see that goddamn face.” A smirk dipping his cheek, Nigel’s hand cups Hannibal’s jawline as he surges for a passionate kiss, pressing his groin against his brother. 


	59. "How did you get those scars?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel's IC monologue to the question, "How did you get those scars?"

“Going over all those fucking scars littering my body would take a whole fucking day and there are some things I’d rather not talk about. That leaves my most recent acquisition, the most prominent one of all as well.” 

After running couple of fingers on the raised, distorted edge of the diagonal gash that runs across his left side, starting from just under his armpit towards above his navel. Along with other visible and non-visible scars, much more pinkish in color compared to other old scars that had faded, or almost invisible with time. 

“This particular one, although it had been excruciatingly painful and had not been healed correctly, as I still continue to suffer from the prolonged infection from the bacteria, I am fucking proud that I rose over this and endured acute pain that rose off of me like a scorching fire of the a smelting furnace. Fucking sheets drenched with sweat and caked blood under stifling Romanian sun of the summer. The stench that reeked from it, that rusty, copper and iron-rich scent of dried blood. I don’t fucking have to tell you no one visited me for those few months, even I, who is used to seeing and killing people all my fucking life had been repulsed and almost retched due to the rancid smell.”

Shifting his hips and lighting a cigarette, a thick white puff of smoke rises from his twin-sized bed, too small for his broad and tall frame. His hand runs against the rusted metal frame of the bed, some of the blood flecks still visible with his eyes. A bit of scowl creases his forehead and the bridge of his nose. “I was in the club as usual, after closed hours, doing coke. Taking care of all the fucking paperwork had been dull and it’s not as if anyone was going to come to my office during those hours in the blink of dawn, so why the fuck not. It was one of those only means I could get the fuck away from this fucking shithole.” 

His intense and stormy hazel orbs dart across the table in front of him, the faint, but still visible white dust scattered through the glass. The razor discarded onto the side, empty coke plastic bags littered across the bed. Empty whiskey bottles along with overflowing ashtray about to be tipped over. Some soot scatter across the room as the wind blows in his direction. Taking another puff from the smoke, his exhale comes in a long sigh. “I had been ambushed inside my fucking office. One of the windows along the back of the office connected with the rear door and as I was experiencing the fucking high, one of my former associates had gutted me from the behind. Of course, that motherfucking dimwit is dead. Buried under my fucking desk under layers of quick-drying cement.” A cruel smirk dips his cheek as a finger taps against the curve of the frame. 

“Thankfully, I didn’t feel too much of an excruciating pain due to the blissful high. I stitched up myself with the fucking fishing line, just enough for the separated edges to hold on while I dragged my fucking ass home. Three of my fucking old t-shirts were able to soak and hold my middle in a makeshift tourniquet and all I fucking remember is passing out as soon as I hit the bed. Fucking fifth floor with no elevator.” With a tilt of his head, he springs up forward and retrieves a big black trash bag and begins to strip the bed clean, the blood stain still visible on the front edge. Along goes the countless butts in the ashtray, empty coke bags and his rumpled and bloodied clothes. “As you can see, now it’s all fucking healed fine, I stitched the fucking thing myself with the proper suture and everything. As I told you before, fucking infection - it spasms and twitches every fucking time I try to get up. It’s prickling and rather fucking annoying, but better than being a fucking cold meat. Now I carry it like a fucking diamond.”


	60. A Dare that almost cost Nigel's Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel's IC monologue to the question, "When you were younger, did you ever accept a dare you shouldn't have?"

Even before he registers the question, Nigel’s lips slack and a sigh rattles deep from his throat. Those days had been even more reckless and careless than the lifestyle he leads now. “I still don’t know the exact fucking reason why Hannibal had left, besides wanting to become a fucking medical doctor to attend Johns Hopkins, but I can take a fucking wild guess that there had been other reasons behind it. I feared that it was because of my volatile and unstable life. Although I had been making much more money, fucking wads of crisp francs, practically snatching away from the fucking middle-aged people who rolled in the riches. I thought it had been ingenious and the grand scheme worked to garner up even more when my skills perfected and I was able to come off as a seductive vixen dressed in skimpy black dress with garter belt, a knife tucked in my thigh in case any of the ‘clients’ threatened to become dangerous.” 

His hand rubbing over his eyebrow as a crease deepens his serious expression, he licks his lower lip and plucks out a fresh cigarette from a crumpled pack, lighting it immediately and takes a long drag. After a long sigh, he purses his lips and begins to talk in his typical throaty and slurred voice. “The very fucking reason that I began to carry a knife, later, pilfered a fucking handgun from the gun store is the exact reason why I don’t fucking accept anything moronic. I had been even more gloating and smug back then. My seductive charm worked. I had been taller than peers, pale and lithe, more androgynous looking. That’s why my fucking scheme worked and one of them had apparently wanted me dead. I was so fucking caught up with my craft and money, that glutton greed took me like a fucking coiled snake. It was hard to free myself from that. I knew I wasn’t against having myself beaten up, as I got off seeing blood. Blood makes everything amplified. The fucking sight alone makes my heart to palpitate. Even now, I can fucking feel it. The thing that it does to me. That unmistakable scent, it’s irreplaceable.”

With a tilt of his smoke, his chin points upward as he leans further against the couch, unscrewing the whiskey bottle with the same hand that holds the smoke. “Anyways, I knew I had sadistic tendencies. I hadn’t killed people then, but watching the blood smear against my knuckles and the feel of the others’ skin graze and glide against mine had been thrilling and exhilarating. I hadn’t realized that I had been a fucking great masochist. A fucking predator suddenly becoming a prey, about to be trapped under the big bad wolf. I bluntly and so naively took the challenge. His dare was to last an hour under a sadist. First of all, he offered much more money than any of my regular clients. Ten times more what I had made. That meant what I could make in that fucking hour could cover more than six months’ rent and some more. How could I fucking refuse?”

The rest is very difficult to talk about, because when he had been ‘working’ with the ‘clients,’ he had imagined he was doing it with Hannibal. With this particular man, the thought immediately faded with the first slap across his chest that made him dribble blood across the floor. All he remembers after the excruciating and taunting hour is him passing out on the bed immediately after feeling heavy wads of cash land on his back. If Hannibal hadn’t been on the watch that day, he would’ve died due to hypothermia. The dock on that particular day had been frigid and there had been no way with the loss of blood and his bruised, battered and aching body could endure the cold wind sweeping through the open container. 

“But then Hannibal would find out and I, most definitely fucking know that’s not the only fucking time I’d almost die…. That comes much much later.” With a long guzzle of the whiskey as the amber liquor tips against and ripples as his full lips envelope the brim of the bottle, the burn of the liquor is much more potent tonight. His warm fingers ghost over now faint scar on the dead center of his forehead, draped under his luscious ashen hair.


	61. "What is family to you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel's IC monologue/drabble to the question, "What is family to you?"

A myriad of emotions flood when he registers the word, ‘family.’ It is a concept that had been stripped off of him too early, as he does not remember much of their parents. Hannibal had been the only family that he’d ever had. Still oblivious to his little sister’s presence, a long lost one who still resided in his twin brother’s heart. A hidden room somewhere deep in his labyrinthine and complex memory palace. Even my brother can’t possibly reach there as freely as he desires to. As much as Hannibal had been most open and unrestrained with emotions in front of him, he would be hesitant and reluctant to blow the dam open, such raw and uncontainable disturbance ripping through both of their consciousness. That would have to be revealed later.

The first word that comes to Nigel’s mind is ‘responsibility.’ “I felt a staggering amount of responsibility during my adolescent years. Although I was the ‘little’ brother Hannibal so technically and correctly termed me as,” his eyes playfully roll at the term, a sly smirk tugging his chin. Technically, he is three months younger than his twin. “I was the more protective one. Never would anyone imagine Hannibal the Chesapeake Ripper, an apex predator who is capable of killing in his own would’ve been a tail waggling excited puppy desperate for attention. Doting and craving my affection, so to speak.” With a cock of his head, the characteristic smirk widens into a grin. “Good old fucking days, my most reckless and juvenile delinquent days, I had it all, charm, seductiveness, money, admirers, enemies, those fucking things, I still clutch onto them. It’s visceral and I know how I look.” Without his self-confidence to mask his insecurities, then he’d merely be reduced into a fucking drug addict who was on the verge of self-destructiveness, instead of coming across people as a narcissistic son of a bitch who got what he wanted through bewitching and exuding allureness. Inside one-bedroom apartment, their first home, the first place he thinks of when he thinks of his happiest times.

The second close word is ‘inseparable,’ as he more than well knows the affect that had upon him, both physically and mentally. Innumerable visible and invisible scars, few of them more so life-threatening and he still suffers from ongoing infections and the locations of them. He grew to hate rainy days, because his body would remember the day of the accident. He doesn’t even know what to call it anymore, because none of it was ‘accidental,’ as he had already planned it for few weeks. He just had to summon the courage to make the action to take its place. “It was a rainy day, one of those thunderstorm approached the shoreline. The thunder roaring, as the heavy metal roared and revved just underneath me. The road barren, it had been just past midnight as I left from work early. It’s not like I was going to go back there. All of the so-called things, my achievements, all the money that I’ve accumulated gathered all inside my small bedroom inside the flat. With the letter I’d written for Hannibal on the briefcase. I would’ve sold the club, but I couldn’t and maybe that’s why I hadn’t fucking died. The bike ended up breaking the initial impact and I only ended up with two fractured ribs and broken hipbone, along with bunch of other cuts and gashes. Nothing too life-threatening, except my fucking head hurt from concussion. Instead of reaching the dead end, I left a little lifeline that I could clutch onto, perhaps it wasn’t my time to go yet.”

The third word literally shatters his heart once more. ‘Heartbreak.’ He is now sitting on his too small twin-sized bed in his Bucharest flat, the air stifling with humid and scorching heat. The sunlight breaks, unhindered, across the rumpled and soiled bedsheets. A whiskey bottle swiftly opens and half the content disappears into his mouth as the intense burn rips through his throat. A smoldering heat rises from his body as an aura surrounds him, as a pottery klint lets out all the contained heatwave against the surrounding air. “I still fucking haven’t fully forgiven Hannibal for that. No matter the reason, it had been the most unexpected. I constantly dream about it and although it is repressed deep within my consciousness now, I know our lives would’ve been dramatically different than this. Less of my self-destructive bouts, less of his substance abuse tearing his trashed liver and lungs. “I did it, because those sensations were the only means of making me realize I was still alive. I truly believe that the one who had shattered your heart has the sole power to mend those back together. If we hadn’t been separated for three decades, of course it would have been ideal. Not for me to feel insecure and the fear of abandonment wouldn’t hit me harder like a fright train when the second one came to me, although much expected. I had been desperate, possessive and my grip had made my darling Gabi suffocating. I fucking smothered her, who could blame her?” Despite his words, he vows to kill her and that runty cunt Charlie, who he mistakenly still thought as a cocksucking faggot who was a tuba player. 

“Out of all the things I had to endure, I’d still sprint after all the good fucking memories, in contrary to all the rock bottoms I’ve hit with all the fucked up shit I’ve managed to do.” When his eyes open back up, slightly liquid, the view still dark as the blackness surrounds him. The clock says 4am, Hannibal is sound asleep right next to him, his head pressed tightly against his chest. An arm winding around his brother’s waist, Hannibal slightly stirs and pushes a knee between his legs, their naked bodies entwining under the blanket. “Ahh, there’s no fucking way I’m letting go of you now.” His fingers feeling Hannibal’s throbbing vein underneath the side of his neck, slow and deep, his brother’s breath warm and tickling against his neck now as he moves down. 

His strong hand cupping over Hannibal’s cheek as he closes in for a kiss, his brother immediately rouses and responds, an arm wrapping around his broad back. Still locked in a fervent kiss as his head desperately tilts and pushes against his brother’s, a finger or two teasing his brother’s entrance, feeling the tight puckered skin clenching around his fingertips. 

You and I are carbon copies of each other, there’s no fucking way I’m letting you go no matter fucking what.


	62. Med student Hannibal takes Nigel to the doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lecterverse AU - Nigel / young Hannibal

After relinquishing his control over to Nigel when his older brother had first taken him, their estranged relationship soon crashed town like two freight train crashing each other. There had been no way to switch the mutual desire and affections off. Nigel had been very possessive, but he had his own blunt and crude way of being protective and even being a romantic. Hannibal’s punctilious personality had crumbled down, at least in front of his brother when they had been completely succumbed to carnal desires, letting go of the last ounce of control he had ever clutched through his meticulous work at the hospital. Nigel hadn’t been clear on how he had gotten the gash on the side of his forehead, close to the temple, but Hannibal didn’t have to pry further to take a guess. Soon, he had found out that Nigel’s involvement in the club had to do with more than him actually owning it. His side-job, which garnered even more money had been more so hard-risk and extremely dangerous. 

Hannibal had been soundly asleep, his head on Nigel’s hard chest, his arm draped across his brother’s tight middle, until he heard a soft groan lifting the toned flesh under his warm cheek. From the dim lit room as all the blinds and curtains had been draped to prevent all the bright specks of lights from the skyscrapers and buildings around the penthouse from hindering their tranquil sleep, but there had been something else that clearly bothered Nigel. An innate light sleeper, Hannibal immediately rouses and inspects his older brother, a bit of an experience from the hospital in its full force. Two fingers check Nigel’s frantic heartbeat, confirming what he had felt against his brother’s chest. What the fuck is wrong with now, Nigel?

As soon as his fingers part, a warm and slick liquid wets his fingertips and then he knows what is exactly wrong. The long stitches that he had worked on merely few hours ago had torn open. The strenuous movements when they had been making love had built enough pressure. With his hand on Nigel’s shoulder, he turns on the lamp on the nightstand by his brother’s side. “Oh fucking shit.” With the light confirming his suspicions, Hannibal’s eyes widen at the amount of crimson painted all over the pillow and the silk bedsheets underneath, the thick blood still wet against Nigel’s head, long ashen locks clinging against it. The pungent scent of iron-rich blood permeates through and completely overwhelms the musky scent of their lovemaking.

“Nigel, wake up!” With a firm shake on his shoulders, Nigel rouses, his wet lashes sticking onto the skin as his head turns. His skin feels too warm, scorched even. The loss of blood isn’t anything life-threatening, but he could still feel the blood leaving him in small amounts. “The stitches popped, we need to go to the hospital.” Hannibal’s lithe body springs up as he pads through his room, quickly putting on his t-shirt and khakis, he grabs handful of gauze and bandages from the first-aid kit. “Can you get up? Do you need help with dressing up?” 

His eyes squinting as a hand rubs the side of his face, a thick layer of crimson paints his broad palm as he registers the view. Fuck, shouldn’t have fucking done this. Pressing his old, rumpled shirt onto his head with an annoyed expression, he shakes his head and furrows, sauntering into the bathroom and running his hand against the side of his face, watching the pink tinged water drain down the sink as he throws the soiled shirt in the trash can. “You can fucking chill, I’m not dying.” He had been hit with a broken wine glass, so there’s no way he could’ve had concussion. The thing he doesn’t remember is that he had fallen on the opposite side and his skull had been cracked as his head had hit the ledge of the window. 

“We can walk, just help me stop the fucking bleeding.” Watching Hannibal’s frantic demeanor, he assures that he’s going to be okay with a tilt of his lips. As he puts on his tight jeans, drops of blood dribbles down on the marbled floor, the increased pressure making it to flow more blood. Hannibal makes a disapproving noise as he applies pressure on the gash. “Just stay still.” As soon as the bandage wraps around Nigel’s head, their trip to Mount Sinai is an instant, Hannibal takes him down to one of the empty bed and Nigel sits on there, his expression a bit blank. He fucking hates hospitals, period. 

“Do you want me to stitch you up, or the doctor? My superior has exceptional stitching skills, actually one of the best - “ Nigel’s finger stops Hannibal from speaking. 

“Well, you’re the one who had to be a fucking irresistible and delicious whore, so you already know the fucking answer, don’t you?” Of course, he doesn’t give a shit to who is the best ‘doctor’ around here, as his little brother had been his one and only cure-all.


	63. In the Middle of the Night

Dark circles adorning under Nigel’s usually intense set of hazel pupils, his eyes flutter close as soon as he collapses against the bed next to Hannibal, right after his cock pulls out of Hannibal’s tight walls. For some unknown reasons, he hadn’t been able to sleep since he became aware of the fact that he ends up falling off from the bed every single night. Hannibal had also suffered from Nigel’s frequent fall during middle of the night, as he had been an innate light sleeper since his orphanage days. In those days, he had been always on the edge, not wanting for him or his brother to get hurt or bullied by bigger kids. Working as an ER surgeon after many years of constantly rousing up anytime and anywhere due to emergencies, his body had gotten completely used to it by now. Although he could function with less amount of sleep than his brother could, Hannibal found himself zoning out when in sessions and his body began to suffer.

As soon as Nigel falls asleep with his breath subsiding to long and slow breaths, Hannibal’s hand winds around his brother’s tight waist, bringing his back flush against his front. At least that will have Nigel grounded, so he doesn’t fall off the edge. Feeling Nigel’s spent cum trickle down against the crack of his ass and wet his balls, it begins to wet his thighs as it drips and soaks through the silk bedsheet underneath him. Enveloped in Nigel’s strong musk along with the faint scent of whiskey and cigarettes, an unmistakable scent of their long hours of lovemaking still heavy in the air. A much needed slumber comes easily as his head gingerly lays on top of Nigel’s shoulder, his chin digging into the sharp bone.

About an hour later, Nigel’s body threatens to fall over the edge again and a heavy thud breaks the quiet room. A string of profanities grumble out from his lips as Nigel rubs his ass and back frantically, he’s sure this time, more bruise will form on his tanned skin. “Not again, fucking shit.” With sleep-heavy voice as he groans, Nigel gets up and flops down on the bed, laying his head on Hannibal’s thigh. “Why don’t I try to hug you front to front? Since you seem to slide off forward, if I hold you by your front instead of spooning you from behind, who knows.” His eyes barely open as he lazily strokes Nigel’s ashen hair, he shakes his head a bit and chuckles, rather amused and definitely amazed that no matter how much he tries to hold his brother, he still manages to fall off the edge of the bed. 

“Okay, why the fuck not.” Lifting himself up from Hannibal’s hard muscle, Nigel’s body swings to hook a leg around his brother’s thigh, his tongue dragging across the curve of Hannibal’s neck, all the way up to the sensitive skin under the jaw. With a tilt of his neck, Hannibal’s lips stretch from cheek to cheek, an arm wrapping around Nigel’s back, a hand wrapping around the hair on back of his brother’s neck as he turns his attention, sensually kissing him.

“I thought we were going to help you sleep without falling over the mattress.” Parting from the kiss, but whispering against Nigel’s lips, Hannibal smiles against them. “Didn’t your fucking brilliant brain ever cross a thought that two fucking rounds of sex isn’t just fucking enough to tire me out?” A sly smirk stretching his lips, soon it becomes wider into a Glasgow smile. “Three times is the fucking charm, so I fucking hope your ass is ready for me again.”


	64. Hannibal in Dachshund

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> drabble prompt - Med student Hannibal steals Nigel’s dachshund shirt and goes to work at the hospital. Having no shirt to wear and finding out Hannibal is wearing his favorite shirt, Nigel storms inside the hospital shirtless.

A habitual light sleeper and an early riser, Hannibal faintly hears Nigel’s heavy footsteps with a guttural sigh breaking the tranquil silence of the penthouse. And soon, the door next to his bedroom shuts with a loud slam and soon, everything becomes serene. After a faint groan, Hannibal rouses completely as he gets ready for another day of work.

Their lifestyle had been completely opposite. Nigel the ever nocturnal night owl, as a club owner, he meant he could have more flexible schedule than Hannibal did, but old habits died hard. Coming straight from the club, most often already inebriated and high from the drug, he passed out on the couch or on his bed if he had the strength to make it.

Hannibal led his usual mundane and dull life. He had to be at Mount Sinai when the medical resident nurses make their morning routine and under supervision of the doctors, he could practice medicine and observe patient care. Peerless among his fellow students, he had excelled in everything, with his meticulous work and a smart-ass brain to prove it, he had all the innate characteristic of being an excellent doctor. A physicality, intelligence, quick on his feet and ability to come up with alternative solutions if all the supervisors had been throwing him questions. Although introverted and aloof, it came off as diligence. He just had a difficult time making friends, especially with what Marcus had been doing to him.

Finding mounds of unwashed clothes in the hamper as well as in the washer, stuffed and overflowing with even more clothes, the only clean thing on the couch was Nigel’s gaudy dachshund shirt. The scent of cigarettes, whiskey and his brother’s strong musk still clinging onto the thin fabric, Hannibal pulls the shirt over his head and it glides off his shoulder, looking like an oversized and stretched shirt. Shrugging his shoulder, he gathers his backpack, putting his black blazers over the shirt and heads out, grabbing his new cell phone Nigel had bought him in the process.

Nigel doesn’t even hear the door shut with a beeping sound, the alarm making a loud sound which should wake him up. Still enveloped in dim darkness of his own bedroom, he doesn’t arouse until almost lunchtime. Feeling rather ravenous as the alcohol and drug flushes out of his system, he scratches his scalp, his ashen hair making a halo around his head as his straight hair mussed all over his head. 

Stroking his chest and noticing he had discarded his shirt somewhere, he craved pizza. There had been an excellent place near Mount Sinai hospital and perhaps he could take Hannibal out during the lunchtime as well. Padding outside the bright living room, he squints his eyes and looks at the mess of the utility room right next to the kitchen. A exasperated sigh lifts his chest. Calling the housekeeper over to get all of the laundry and cleaning taking care of, he rummages for a clean shirt. Not finding any as he searches for his favorite shirt, he scratches his head, remembering that he had discarded it on the couch merely five hours before. Hannibal! Ahh, fuck. That’s my fucking favorite shirt. Immediately thinking that his brother could’ve taken his favorite wiener shirt, he storms out of the house with only his wallet, his clothes from the night before still on him. His rugged, light washed jeans what did nothing to hide his sharp hipbones and his black tight briefs exposed above the waistband.

Oblivious to all the people’s lascivious and desiring sight as he fumes, his steps quickening as his long and muscular legs stride across the blocks, it merely takes few minutes in his quick pace to storm inside the front door. Knowing exactly where Hannibal worked, he goes to the third floor and yells Hannibal’s name as soon as he sees a few people in doctor’s lab coats. “Where the fuck is Hannibal?”

Flustered as Nigel’s typical commanding, low and husky, not taking no shit for an answer voice rings through the main lobby of the floor, although not loud decibel-wise, the force and intensity is just enough for him to feel that his voice has the power to penetrate walls. Wearing the shirt underneath his own lab coat, his eyes widen as he sees Nigel’s form. His gorgeous body all open for others to see. The beads of sweat clinging onto the thatch of chest hair and the biceps flexing as his fingers curls, the most thing that makes Hannibal’s cheek flush in a rosy color is Nigel’s ripped jeans, strategically flayed in places to accentuate his musculature underneath those long legs.

“L-let’s go. I’ll give you my shirt, I can borrow white t-shirt from the dressing room.” Dragging Nigel’s wrist as Hannibal quickly retreats behind a staff-only door, he whispers as he shuts it behind him. “Are you wearing anything underneath?” Nigel’s eyes scan the length of Hannibal’s lithe body. Buttoning up the shirt’s uppermost button as he steals Hannibal’s gown, the white fabric feels too tight around his torso and upper arm, especially his broad shoulders.

“I’ll just fucking go out like this, I was going to buy you a fucking pizza. There’s a great deep-dish pizza joint near here.” Nigel’s arm winds around Hannibal’s waist. “You are not fucking going outside like this! Everyone is gonna stare at you… I don’t like that. I’ll find you something you can wear.”


	65. First Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tried this experiment, using the five minute drabble challenge as a jumping off point. This was written in 3 five-min sessions, no editing, non-stop.

Standing opposite of the traffic light, not too far from Hannibal’s office, Nigel had texted his brother, calling him down to meet in front of the bustling four-way intersection. Grabbing his overcoat and chucking his hands into the pockets, Hannibal’s hand rubs against the lining of the pockets, his shoulders bowing as the frigid wind sweeps through his frame.

Lunch hours always had been hectic. His oxford-donning feet bounces against the pavement as Hannibal eagerly awaits the signal to turn. Nigel had been making all kinds of faces, from his characteristic smirk to sticking out his tongue, smiling and making funny faces. Hannibal merely shakes his head, amused and appreciating his brother brightening his mood.

The morning sessions had been the most grueling. Another referred patient from his colleague. Neurotic and nervous, she had been very shy and aloof, distanced, not so unlike himself. It was as if he had been seeing his mirror version, except he wasn’t like that at all when he was with his brother. Feeling rather empathetic as he had listened with his utmost, undivided attention, but his emotional distress deepening, the fifty-minute session felt more like five hundred.

Spending time in his mind palace during that time, the woman had lost a younger brother, the age gap close to how he and Mischa had been. Pushing the tears that crept over his eyes as he blinks slowly, he hands the woman a box of tissues as the woman begins to weep. Openly sobbing as fat tears stream down her powdered face. Eyeliner smeared and eyeliner trickling down along with the continuous line that the tear paints.

Pushing the sorrowful thought aside, as soon as the light changes to green, Hannibal’s oxfords stride towards Nigel, a little quickened pace than his usual. He had wanted to take his brother to one of the newest organic French bistro that had been opened nearby, having already tasted the food there, he found out that they had excellent fish dishes. Very fresh and crisp, simple, but plated and presented with attention to detail. Reasonably priced. He was sure Nigel would like it, although he wasn’t that big white meat eater, he knew Nigel had a penchant for fried food.

His heart beating faster than usual as his head tilts, Hannibal’s peripheral vision completely misses the car speeding through, the countdown begins on the traffic light. Eight, seven, six….

Along with that, his tall and broad body slams against the hood of the car, and then his temple smashes against the front glass, then bounces off like a rag doll. When he lands on the asphalt with a heavy crack and a thud, his head is cracked, thick blood oozing onto the black surface as black opal reflects Nigel’s frantic face.

As each second passes, even Nigel knows Hannibal has zero chance of making into the hospital alive. He could see the brain matter seeping out from the shattered skull and his brother’s strong frame merely reduced into a stick figure, an arm and a leg bent into uncomfortable positions. All too familiar with the acute and searing pain that must shoot through his entire body, Hannibal’s maroon orbs, the flecks in his irises quickly fades. Nigel’s fat tears paints Hannibal’s bloody and pallid face pink, a slight tilt and his twin’s body completely melting against his thighs confirm the unacceptable and cold hard truth.

Their first anniversary, Hannibal Lecter’s body, still warm from all the blood shed on the pavement, lays lifeless.

Fast forward a complete rotation of the clock, Nigel lies in the same road, this time, a truck had hit him from the side and he drops on the floor with literally every bone of his body broken, dead even before his body hits the ground.


	66. Lecterverse AU - Nigel's Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel & Young Hannibal

Having assigned the comatose patient meant one thing. Hannibal had to observe and give a sponge bath every few days, observe the vitals, turn the patients sideways every few hours to prevent skins from getting infections and to massage the atrophied muscles from deteriorating further. Actually, he had volunteered to tend to the patient. In his early thirties, head trauma, no surviving family to tend him. All he could do was to to read books to him to keep the brain to function, as he knew coma patients were aware of the surroundings. Completely immersed in the medical journal he had been reading about extraordinary cases of autistic people who had special talents in memorizing New York’s skyline and drawing it all from the memory, he always had been interested in drawing as he always carried a sketchpad around with him at all times, observing the view outside and drawing the view of the hospital as well.

Never did he realize Nigel had been just downstairs, getting his arm stitched. Clumsy he had been, he had taken a tumble down the stairs and cut himself on the left arm when he landed arm-first on one of the shallow stairs in their penthouse. He would’ve asked Hannibal for his stitches, but he wanted to surprise his little brother. Having asked to bring Hannibal when his stitches were finished, his deep gash required two layers of stitches, one that would disappear and blend into the layer of the muscle, the outside one, second layer holding up the separated and flayed skin. “Is there an empty room I can get Hannibal to wrap the bandages?” Asking his brother’s superior, he manages to sneak into the room without spotting his brother.

“Lecter, there’s a patient for you to bandage up, I want you to do an especially good job of it.” With a knowing smile, the doctor sends Hannibal inside one of the empty room that had been barely used. As soon as the door softly opens with a faint sound, Hannibal inhales his brother’s familiar scent, whiskey, cigarettes and musk, some even on his dark jeans, that unmistakable stain right between his muscular legs.

“What happened to your arm?” A brow raising, he suspiciously closes the distance between Nigel and himself. Nigel’s hand produces a cuff out of the blut, cuffing it around Hannibal’s wrist and the metal bar around the hospital foldable chair he had been sitting on. “What the fuck, Nigel?” A pink blush instantly taking over his face, Hannibal tugs at the cuff, but it is snug around his wrist. Hopping off from the chair with a smirk, Nigel locks the door and pushes Hannibal off towards the chair, his scent and warmth still permeated through the leather. Reclining the chair as it pushes backward, Nigel pins his brother with his weight, another cuff restraining as it clinks against the metal. “Mmm, there’s my fucking whore waiting for me to savor, but first, I’ll paint you with something entirely different than what I did a few nights ago.”

Flicking open his pocket knife as his hand slides inside the jeans pocket, Nigel’s hand swiftly moves to cut through the buttons, which flies all over the floor. Straddling his brother down as his hips rock, a blade flings once again and the slacks come off in a haste, revealing already flushed cock. The blunt edge of the cold metal running against the fleshy sleeve, Nigel licks his lips. “Shall we begin?”


	67. The Deal with the Devil

The master suite immediately brightly lights, the sun rising in the distance on the horizon and golden glow begins to break into the rectangular windows, the city outside the house slowly wakes up along with them. Nigel wakes up first, a rare occasion, or he had thought. Hannibal is bemusedly smiling beside him, his grin widening into something of a Cheshire smile as the creases around his bright maroon eyes deepen. Nigel reciprocates the smile, his typical smirk upon his lips as his hazel irises contain the golden flecks inside them as he pulls his brother closer. 

“Mm, g’morning, dear brother.” Nigel’s low and husky voice breaks the serenity as he whispers against Hannibal’s ear. “Good morning to you, too, Nigel.” His fingers stroking Nigel’s slight stubble, he contentedly hums, sleep still contained in his voice as he almost purrs. “You know there isn’t one person in the world that I want more than I want you.”

Lifting his chin as his warm and full lips brush over Hannibal’s jawline, Nigel’s guttural groan lifts his chest. “You better fucking know I’d rather have the one who owns my fucking heart and that person is you, of course. I’d rather face a fucking thunderstorm in my life than have sunny days with someone else.” Closing the distance, his lips grope Hannibal’s, deepening the kiss as their bodies entwine under the covers, which had been already rumpled by their nighttime activities. Nigel’s eyes sweeping over Hannibal’s glorious form as he parts, he nuzzles against his brother’s neck, inhaling the intoxicating blend. Their musk, sweat, faint scent of whiskey and wine, their joined debauchery. “I fucking love you so much.” Nigel smirks against Hannibal’s lips and surges his lips, nipping the lower lip enough to break the skin. 

“I love you too, dear brother.” A hand going through Hannibal’s form as Nigel’s eyes opens, he desperately tries to snatch the transient form, slowly dissipating into the air as he does not hear the words. W-what? What the fuck is happening?

His eyes wide open in a dark living room. The hardwood floor scattered with empty bottles of whiskey, one tips against his feet and falls, some drops wetting the back of his foot. Ashtray full of stubs right next to him on the side table, a visible line of coke he hadn’t snorted still in front of him. The white dust under his nostrils, his parched mouth swallows dry as his bloodshot eyes flicker across the room. Somewhat frantic, searching for ephemeral figure that he just managed to see. Over and fucking over again. 

Glancing over at his iPhone, 5:14am. The sun had barely risen over the horizon as the fine dust in the room rises as he stirs against the lounge. Blankly staring at the wall opposite him as he listens to the birds chirp, a stream of tear paints across his sharp cheekbones as his head tilts downward, knees bending as his face disappears underneath his knees. 

Hannibal had passed away nearly two years ago and since then, he had been dreaming of his brother’s vanishing figure. Every single fucking time, when he dreamed, it had been blissful, ecstatic, exhilarating yet too sudden and short-lived. Seemingly evanescent, sorrowful. Every time he dreamed of them fucking, having sex, making love, whatever the fuck he had remembered, he was forgetting each one he had dreamed. 

Having made the deal with the devil, he had been living for almost two years, every night, a happy dream would overwhelm his nightmares, the day his brother had died being a recurrent and constant one. When his happy memories ran out, his tainted and darkened soul would taken straight to Limbo. Having already entered a state of oblivion, he had been imprisoned in his own mind, his own cage. All he wanted had been to die and he had to endure until he had been repeating the life of desperation and depression. 

Just take me, fucking take me to that damned abyss. 

The devil smiles. There were still indefinite days for Nigel to to bear without resistance or with patience. Until then…. He had lived like a living corpse, pallid, enervated, inebriated, stoned and already dead inside.


	68. Floridian Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lecterverse AU - Nigel / Young Hannibal

Having taken a month off during the summertime, Hannibal had wanted to take another opportunity to intern at other prestigious hospital in the east coast, but Nigel had suggested that they take a road trip down to Florida, exploring the south as they sunbathed and spending some more brotherly times, relaxing, enjoying different cuisines, drink and mostly to have ardent lovemaking as they stopped to enjoy all the five-star hotels could offer. The spa and sauna on the rooftops, indoor pools with endless amounts of champagne and eclectic food. Their destination set to Key West, the most southern part of the States, their perfect plan had been halted by a natural disaster. A strong hurricane had just made its landfall about two miles off the highway where Nigel had been driving for hours. Trying to beat the darkening sky as the cloud overcasts the road, the scorching sun of the Floridian summer long gone, the heavy rain instantly wets both of their thin shirts and jeans as the road conditions makes impossible for them to carry on. Nigel’s bike pulls in front of an abandoned warehouse, the roof half-blown off, the metal door creaking open.

The door shuts slowly behind him as Nigel lets Hannibal inside first. The rusted and heavy steel-barred doors locked with thick chains and lock, the torrential rain pools around and trails a continuous stream on the cold concrete floor. The atmosphere heavy with moldy scent as the damp and humid air surrounds them, the darkness envelops two brothers even more as the night falls in a blink of an eye. Figuring that the wet stacks of cardboard boxes leaned against the wall, layers of chipped paint falling off from it would fare better against their rain-drenched bodies, Nigel’s hand grabs Hannibal’s wrist and tugs him. “Why don’t we pull those and spread them over the floor, so we can settle the fuck down.” His other hand raking his wet ashen locks from underneath, long hair whips against his sharp cheekbones as he rids of excess moisture dripping from it.

Sitting down with a hand propping him, Nigel’s arm winds around Hannibal’s waist. The shirt’s hem dripping water and soaking the cardboard underneath them. “There’s no fucking way we’re gonna be able to continue riding.” Along with his words, a whirling wind sweeps through and he can even feel the steel structure of the building rattle with the force of wind. A hand almost instinctively intertwines Hannibal’s hand, pulling him even closer to his chest. Hannibal’s more lithe body begins to tremble with the prolonged exposure to rain, his hand placed on Nigel’s knees as his hold on the warm skin tightens. “We’re not gonna make it to that hotel with this much rain. Might as well as we spend the night here.” Inching closer to Nigel as their hips touch, Hannibal’s voice trails off. “It’s cold. I didn’t know Floridian summer could be cold.”

Feeling much warmer than he did when he had been feeling the strong vibration of the revving engine underneath with the scorching sun above him as he had been riding all along, Nigel’s lips find the nape of Hannibal’s neck, feeling a bit of reverberation of tremor carry through against his full lips. Swinging his legs over and laying his brother across the cardboard they had spread on the floor, he shifts his weight to straddle Hannibal’s lap down. “I think you fucking would like what I am about to do then.” His hands intertwining with both of Hannibal’s as Nigel pins his brother down, pressing his lips against the most recent mark he had made at the hotel, just below the jaw where the sensitive skin dips.

In mere five minutes, Hannibal is writhing under his older brother with a completely different reason, the coldness that had been clinging onto him disappeared, the smoldering heat and Nigel’s lips painting marks all over his pale skin as his skin paints with flushed red. Hannibal is sure that he sees the heat rise off of his skin through his unfocused eyes, like the heated asphalt of the day still emits all the contained heat during the night. Perhaps that would be the case as their partially clothed bodies entwine across the brown colored, unpleasant smelling dankness of the material, but soon, their contrasting skin merges together even more as white splatters all over them and they whisper sweet nothings along with filthy words that make Hannibal’s heated face redden even more. Something along the line of “You fucking are one and only whore with a cunt made to take my cock,” and “No one makes me to fucking cum like your fucking hot coil does.”


	69. One Weekend Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lecterverse AU - Nigel & med student Hannibal

Always an innate early riser and a true prophet of the phrase ‘the early bird catches the worm, Hannibal’s eyes opened wide even before his alarm rings. Still having his own room for him to study in, as he had many medical articles to read through and research about preventing, or at least reducing the risk of postpartum hemorrhages, he had already written the research paper to be submitted, but he wanted to give it the last once-over before the deadline, which was at 6pm. Long time from now, twelve hours before. 

He and his brother had began sharing the bed in Nigel’s room and he had been asleep as always. Leading a completely opposite life, a through and through nocturnal creature his brother had been. Owning the club, going out at night for the drive around the outskirts of the city, Nigel had been knocked out cold when Hannibal had ridden him until he came and came under Hannibal’s impossibly tight coil that clenched and squeezed with death grip. 

Pulling Nigel’s arm to get him out of bed, Hannibal hears his brother’s unsatisfied grunt, his head merely rolling to bury his head against the pillow. His ashen locks veiling and covering the side of his angular face. With a strong pull, Nigel pulls Hannibal towards them as he rolls sideways, a tanned and veiny arm wraps around his brother’s middle and Hannibal’s head immediately hits against Nigel’s hard shoulder with a soft thud. The stripes of sunlight paints Nigel’s back with various shades of reds and oranges, all the warm tones contained in the expanse musculature that rises and falls slowly. 

An incoherent mumbling after, Nigel’s arm moves down to pin Hannibal down against the mattress. Hannibal tries to push his brother’s shoulder and tries to get away, but his hold on his waist is too strong. Awkwardly placed in the hold, Hannibal squirms to free himself, but Nigel’s other arm winds around his neck and warm fingers tangle against his dark locks. A soft sigh lifting his chest as his dark thatch of chest hair brushes the hairy skin on Nigel’s arm. 

Observing Nigel’s serene face with interest as his finger trails his brother’s angular, chiseled and stubbled jawline, his shoulders slightly slouch and his head tilts, an indication that his older brother has fallen in a deep slumber yet again. Carefully running his finger against the cupid’s bow of the full and warm lips, the breath that still smell of whiskey and cigarette lands on his cheek as Hannibal presses his cheek against Nigel’s chest that rises and falls more deeply and slowly with each movement. His own arm draped over the lean waist, his hand runs along the curve of the other’s spine, from the dip of the back to the narrowest dip just above the hips and all the way down to the firm globes, feeling the defined gluteus maximus and oblique muscles. 

With a minute shrug of shoulders, enveloped in Nigel’s warm musk and heat radiating off from the tanned olive skin, Hannibal relishes exploring his brother’s muscles, hoping to ingrain into his brain, so that he could draw his naked form without a single reference. He’d already drawn Nigel’s portrait, so he’d give a whole figure of him reclining against the couch a try.


	70. Petrichor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Person A usually enjoys the rain. They love the smell of the Earth after a good shower, they love how the little droplets can soak them so easily, and how there is a rainbow after every storm. But looking at the gravestone bearing Person B’s name before them as rain soaks through their coat, A despises rain storms and everything related to it.

He always loves the petrichor. That fresh, earthy smell rises from the garden outside the kitchen. When the middle of the summer rolled around, Hannibal’s favorite thing to do was to harvest tomatoes for them to savor. That juicy, succulent flesh quenching his thirst. He had always loved the fruit, since their adolescent days, the one and only thing that was even remotely healthy, except red and white meat had been tomatoes. “Give it a little wash and taste it.” Hannibal throws the ripe and plump fruit over Nigel’s hand and he takes a hefty bite. The rush of flesh and sweet juice flows as he chews and swallows, the skin clings between his teeth and his tongue sweeps across the back of them. “As I exactly fucking remember.”

Leaning against the kitchen island and mindlessly savoring through the rest of the tomato, he reminiscences the recent trip to the farmer’s market and countless times before then, even when they were younger. The first thing Hannibal did was to grow tomatoes in the garden when they had a roof over their heads and the first thing they purchased when they had gone to the market were those. Heirloom tomatoes, those cherry tomatoes that tasted so good with thick sliced bacon in a frittata or in any of the hearty and brothy soups and stews Hannibal used to make. Mostly cassoulets or ratatouille.

After the last bite of the tomato disappears as he ravenously devours the fruit, he steps outside the porch with the fresh smoke tipped against his lips. The first puff breaks through the slit of the glass door as Nigel slides through it sideways and Hannibal turns just in time to see the smoke enter through the kitchen. A playful glare lands on Nigel’s smirking visage. “No smoking in the kitchen, Nigel.” With a tilt of his head, Hannibal playfully chides his brother as he puts the last tomato inside the basket along with some sprigs of herbs, rosemary, parsley and basil.

“I was thinking we could make a simple caprese salad with that smoked mozzarella cheese we got from the organic farmer’s market the other day and frittata with your favorite thick smoked bacon with prosciutto wrapped asparagus spears.” Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, Hannibal gets up with a soft grunt, stretching his legs as the late afternoon sun paints an unique pattern across his tanned muscles. His white button-down rolled up, a continuous line of sweat trickles down the curve of his neck, down to his chest fluff.

Slouched against the wall as his legs crossed at the ankles, Nigel stands in the shadow, lazily glancing upward the cloudy sky that begins to darken. Sticking his hand out as a drop of rain wets a spot on his black t-shirt, he beckon Hannibal to come inside, savoring the rush of nicotine as he inhales deeply, the lingering smoke exhaling through his nostrils. “Before you’re fucking soaked, get your ass inside. I’ll help you slice stuff.” Crushing the butt inside half-full ashtray by the window, he slides the glass pane open as Hannibal steps closer, he grabs his chin and pecks a kiss before flashing a small smirk, shutting the door as the rain begins to pour. His eyes fluttered close, Nigel relishes the fleeting feel of Hannibal’s lips on his. The outside instantly darkens as he hears thunder roaring in the distance. Despite their hasty retreat, the thunderstorm had been even quicker to wet their shirts, splatters of raindrops painted on all over the front and back of the fabric. Soon, the water becomes drenched with their sweat as their bodies mingle across the kitchen island. Their early supper long forgotten.

When Nigel’s eyes open, the alarm is blaring beside him. Moving in autopilot, his bloodshot eyes blankly stare at his less than put together form. His muscular and toned frame becoming more lithe, his usual luscious hair dry and brittle, a few days old worth of stubble on his face as he rubs a hand over his angular face. A special day, he shaves and takes a shower, and dons in the most nicest suit and overcoat. Once had been Hannibal’s, the dark gray and maroon windowpane patterned three-piece. His and Hannibal’s favorite.

Swallowing dry and filling up the flask with whiskey and taking his pack of cigarettes, iPhone and motorcycle keys, he storms out too barren and empty house.

_Count Hannibal Lecter VIII, November 22, 1965 - September 2, 2005, A brother, older twin, best friend and the most gorgeous lover of all._

As soon as his intense and liquid eyes penetrate the gravestone of his brother’s grave, Nigel smells the same petrichor. The comforting and familiar smell he had loved when his brother had been alive. Many times of staying in their house, eating fresh and seasonal fruits and drinking the night away in summer, eating comfort food, drinking spiked vin chaud in fall and winter, making love in innumerable nights, whispering filthy and romantic words as their glorious bodies entwined and unified in one.

Soon, he senses the sky paint gray and darken as his mind does, and his overcoat, too loose around his slender frame as the bridge of his nose cringes. A fat tear rolls along his defined cheekbones as he gets drenched in rain in seconds.  

Now he hates the fresh, earthy smell before rain, he can’t even look at tomatoes and anything associated with them. And he hates everything that has to do with Hannibal. Including living.

 

 


	71. Monachopsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.

The heavy scent of the musk still lingers behind the tightly shut door of the master suite. The dust particles floats in the air of the bedroom through the closed windows, the strong light breaking through and casting a shadow on the king sized bed, the mattress dipped, the rumpled sheets still stained with their fluids. Sweat had been long dried, but he would smell the intoxicating and overwhelming scent. Desperately preserved under his nostrils, pressed tight against the unmistakable spot still staining the duvet. Having taken the shower just moments before, his still wet body presses against the fabric, the duvet dips in the shape of his body as he surrounds himself with the decreasing beats of his heartbeat.

The same reason with all the Hannibal’s wardrobe. The heady scent, sandalwood and a faint scent of cologne. It had only been three fucking days, since his brother had been hospitalized, the second floor held too much of good memories. The same could be applied to the kitchen. Merely a few days ago, they had been making pizza there. Making the dough had taken hours, as their childish food fight had turned into a full-on sexual teases, Hannibal reluctantly, but surely giving into Nigel’s relentlessness. The memory still too picturesque and vivid in his mind, his eyes grow liquid and a drop of tear paints his sharp cheekbone. Surrounded by the scent of his brother, he begins to feel floating in the surface as time begins to still, his body lifting into the thin air as his mind whirls. Like being placed in the spinning dryer, too heated, his heartbeat slows, yet he can feel it pump strong, the body desperate to make circulations. 

Too caught up in his own mind playing the day full of devastation, his ears completely miss the call from the hospital. He is aware enough to know that his cell phone is inside the suit pocket, the changed ringtone ringing and the vibration against his thigh acting like a damned vibrator. The fleeting feeling intensifies as his half-shut gaze glances downward at the duvet painting in his fluid. The same color as the windowpane suit that he dons. His eyes roll behind his closed eyelids as he takes the last breath, the heart slowing down with the morphine coursing through his bloodstream.

The dense crimson trickling along the duvet as it dips along with his weight, the slit wrist lets out more blood as his body stills. The phone stops ringing for a while, and then it begins to ring violently again. With the minute tilt of his head, Nigel’s bleary hazel opens once more, becoming static. 

At the same time, on the operation table, Hannibal took his last fluttering breath, succumbing to the intracranial pressure built inside his head, along with the loss of blood that had stripped off of the last strength. Pronounced dead and covered with the white fabric, the IV hooked arm slides off from the surface, lifeless, just like his brother only a few miles off on the bed.


	72. "I didn't actually think you'd do it."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lecter Twins + Will Graham

When he roused from the deep oblivion, the darkness had surrounded him as his vision faded. The hilt of his own gun, with the inscription ‘Love Forever, Hannibal,’ on one side, ‘Until Death, Nigel’ on the other. As his intense and penetrating gaze bore down to Will’s distant blue orbs, his peripheral gaze catches his brother. Flushed with anger, a myriad of expression written on the face. With Will, he had still maintained the nonchalant composure, while he had stripped all of his human veil in front of him. More intimate, raw and open. His frantically beating heartbeat heavy against his throat and eardrums, the bullet tearing through the strong muscle of his leg cedes his hazel eyes, a film of tear coating and falling down in a continuous line on his sharp cheekbones. 

His dilated eyes are void of emotions, although excruciating and acute pain shoots upward as splatters of blood jets, painting the floor already dribbled with his own crimson from his head. He doesn’t have to run a hand along his temple to know that the liquid painting the whole side of his face, warm and coppery, all too familiar dense liquid is indeed his own vital fluid. No, fuck. You fucking are wrong, we’re not the fucking monsters you want to kill. If you’d only knew what we had to go through…. No. 

Knowing Hannibal’s fingers are clutching the scalpel which he has it hidden under the sleeve at all times, Nigel’s eyes blink slowly and opens back up, feeling the left leg give up as he balances his weight with right. Feels like his whole leg is chopped off. “Will, Will. You can make this right. Why would we kill you? At what cost?” Hannibal’s ever so calm voice echos through the kitchen, but Will’s eyes are unyielding. Fixated on Hannibal now that Nigel had been already injured. His hand reaches for the back pocket where his pocket knife is, a gift from Hannibal, with intricate black and silver engraved patterns on the hilt, recently sharpened blade which can cut through bones easily with effortless stab.

Hannibal’s real intention had been bringing Will down to manipulate him into being a killer. Nigel didn’t need any of that to become the killer that he is, as he had been prone to violence and had protected his brother when the opportunities presented. Fending off bullies and his volatile and cruel personality adding to his preferred method of killing. Hannibal had already acted as a benefactor, a courter as a killer that he had been. Creating aesthetically pleasing masterpieces, presenting the corpses. Ethics become aesthetics. There’s no morality, only morale. To both of the twins, the act of killing itself had been the most beautiful act one can partake in.

Hannibal’s knowing gaze on Nigel’s pouring stream of blood from his leg confirms that he’s dead no matter what. He’d exsanguinate and fall dead within minutes. Almost simultaneously, Hannibal’s scalpel lodges into Will’s shoulder as Will shoots Hannibal’s heart, the ventricles frenetically pumping blood out as broad and toned body collapses, his maroon eyes wide open, his lips clenched tight. Dead even before his body hits the ground with pouring blood pooling under the three-piece suit. The thick crimson reflecting Hannibal’s still face as more blood trickles and soaks the layers.

Throwing his body with all of his strength, Nigel’s blade pierces between the ribcages, piercing the heart. Will’s gun, technically, Nigel’s gun fires once again for the bullet to make a through-and-through, his lung perforated. On top of Will as his blade twists with all of his strength, spew of blood lifts his aching chest, his eyes unfocused against Hannibal’s bloody corpse and Will’s tremoring body. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it…” With his last gaze upon Will’s and his own dense crimson pool mingle across their entwined bodies, he exhales last, his lips tinged with blood as the twins’ blank eyes lock in space.


	73. Nigel Makes a Birthday Cake

Knowing Hannibal had been still occupied with patients for the rest of the afternoon, Nigel gets all of the ingredients ready on the kitchen counter in his usual careless fashion. What could possibly go wrong with a simple fucking birthday cake? Already having stopped by the grocery store to get all of the ingredients, he had to ask the store clerk for help as he didn’t know where half the stuff from the list was. With a big bottle of pumpkin cider with a bottle of bourbon in a brown bag and two large heavy paper bag full of cake ingredients, the spiked drink had instantly reminded them of their birthday, as they used to go when they were adolescents and occasionally still go to the farmer’s market when they grew nostalgic, which meant they went there every single year when it first held.

All-purpose flour, butter, baking powder and milk measured according to the recipe he found on internet on his iPad looked easy and simple enough even for him and as soon as the batter was placed inside a pan, the oven would do all the work for him. Hannibal never baked and they weren’t too big on doing something what Nigel thought of as being childish. The twins didn’t have much of a sweet tooth either. Maybe he’ll make this particular cake towards less sweeter side.

Looking over at the ingredients with a fresh lit cigarette hanging off from his pursed lips, his forehead furrows in concentration. “Hm… Fucking flour, baking powder and salt, all the dry ingredients mixed together…” Slouching in his usual fashion as he mumbles, he dumps all the ingredients inside the clear bowl, measuring with the disposable paper cup he had out to use it as an ashtray. As he inadvertently heaps upon the dry ingredients, the powder creates a dusty halo all over and spreads on the kitchen counter like the faint line of coke would be left over after he snorted the fat lines. Some even covering his face as the bridge of his nose crinkles, coughing some of the flour gets inhaled through his nostrils. Almost dropping the cigarette as he quickly grabs it between index and middle finger to take a deep drag, he knows Hannibal will bitch later about smoking in his favorite place in entire house, but who cares, he’s the one who is making the birthday cake. Watching a puff of thick white smoke along with some dust exit through his mouth and setting the combined dry ingredients aside, he adds in the wet ingredients suggested by the recipe, adding sugar and cocking his head in confusion, wondering why that fucking sugar is a wet ingredient. 

Forgetting to turn the mixer to the lowest setting when adding eggs one at the time, egg white splatters onto his face and clumps up with the mess he has already made of himself and all over the kitchen floor. Washing off a huge clump covering and trickling down his cheek, he resumes adding one more egg and adds milk, incorporating the mixture and scraping it with his hand, watching the batter cling onto his slender fingers in a lump, which makes him to have five thumbs on his broad hand. Watching the dough begin to mix and clump up, his biceps flexes as he takes the fluffy and beat batter out from the paddle attachment.

Dumping the mixture into two already buttered up eight inch racks, he flattens the mixture with the spatula and looks down at his clumped hand that looks like a bat now. Scraping it clean with the spatula and putting some lemon zest in that he had forgotten as he mixes the batter with his hands, he slides the pan in, watching the ash scatter on the floor.

The filling seemed much more easy and effortless as the only thing he had to do was to mix mascarpone cheese with a bit of almond extract, cream and more sugar, which he puts less, wanting it less sweet. Putting the mixture inside the fridge to cool, where he had put dark chocolate frosting inside the tube to put the letter the cake.

While the cake bakes, Nigel finishes two more smokes and washes his face and hand. His soiled clothes smell like motor oil and gunpowder as he had been hand washing the bike in thorough care and practicing putting his gun and apart and putting together again with his expert and deft fingers. 

Once the oven’s timer goes off, he saunters back to the kitchen, pulling two pans on the counter to cool. Thinking of the suitable message to put on the cake, something off-putting and funny in their usual banter. Smirking as he squeezes the tube with the nipped end to put the message “Haypy fucking birfthday, you fuck…lefjwleifldf.” Instead of using candles, he’d use his cigarettes from his unopened pack inside the back pocket of his leathery jeans as replacement for candles. He finishes his unusual and off-putting decoration by sticking the carton and putting leftover dark chocolate frosting on top of his incoherent word at the end. He’d even put unpleasant and unappetizing colors as the contrast, steering away from warm colors that are supposed to make people to have an increased appetite.

As soon as he sticks the empty crushed pack inside with the crooked letters written in his usual scrawl, the mound of frosting at the bottom of the cake trails down into a mush, which makes it to look like a kid just gave up on writing the whole word spelled out.

Hearing Hannibal’s Bentley pull in front of the front entrance, he covers the ugly cake with one of his brother’s silver dome. Hannibal’s oxford softly tapping against the foyer as he removes the overcoat and hangs it on the hanger, Nigel crosses the threshold, sauntering with his characteristic swagger as his hip swings with an amused expression. With a whiff of the air as Hannibal’s nostrils flare, he immediately knows his brother had been smoking inside the house.

“I told you not to smoke inside the house. What is this?” Eying the big platter Nigel is holding, Hannibal’s eyes flicker between Nigel’s mischievous orbs that glint with playfulness, even more so than other times. “Why don’t you fucking stop the talking and open the goddamn thing? I made something for both of us.”

The lid opens quickly and Hannibal’s expression is unreadable, his usual impassive face straining to remain static as his lips twitch, looking down at the ugly, but appetizingly smelling cake. The contrast of those two is visible through Nigel’s use of almond extract and lemon zest, which Hannibal immediately picks up. His brow lifting, his lips curl up in something of a smirk, matching his brother’s expression.


	74. A One Particular Horrendous Yet Hot Bartender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NY AU drabble prompt - Hannibal offers to cover for a bartender at the club but is a miserable flop at making drinks and feels terrible about it. Plus, all the male customers keep hitting on him.

When one of his staff members at the club, who had been one of the most best bartenders around, who had been garnering more customers than the club ever had told him he’d miss his Friday night shift, Nigel had been completely flabbergasted. Travis had the looks, skills and seductive charm that he required the bartenders to have. Him being a bisexual didn’t hurt, either. Both men and women had drooled all over them and selling the drinks out like a fucking machine, he had earned more than what the regular salaryman could make in a week in a single weekend night. With him gone for the day, a family funeral that was supposed to take in Upstate New York, Nigel reluctantly had to let him go. There was no fucking way he’d deny his most valuable asset the chance to say goodbye to his uncle.

“What’s wrong? You don’t seem to look so happy.” Hannibal immediately recognizes Nigel’s distress as he downs a whiskey bottle with a tip. The amber liquor guzzling in a rapid spiral as he feels a continuous burn through the back of his throat. The profit for the club continued to steadily rise and with Travis’ absence tonight, a Saturday, would be costly and detrimental.

“I need a fucking bartender at the club as my best one just had his uncle passed away, fucking shit, I’ll just stay here and drown myself in the fucking liquor.” As Hannibal sits next to him, Nigel lazily grins and strokes his brother’s abdomen, a hand sneaking down to pat at the growing interest. His calloused fingers wrapping around the shaft as he takes Hannibal’s length out. With a clank of the empty whiskey bottle, devoid of even a single drop, his other hand strokes his own over the tight jeans and brings Hannibal’s on his, suggesting to mirror his movements to get him hard.

“I-I was going to offer to be a replacement for the night. If you are really in need, I want to give it a try.” His hand unzipping Nigel’s jeans as he straddles his brother down, his own flushed and hard cock brushes against Nigel’s taut middle as he lowers himself on his brother’s now slick-coated length, impaling himself on it. “I would fucking love to see you make drinks. We could go there early and… do stuff there before anyone even gets there.”

The night rolls around and an hour before the club opens and the place gets flooded with staff members getting ready to open for yet another night of debauchery, the brothers are laying on top of each other, handing each other’s clothes and wiping themselves clean with the towel and napkins inside Nigel’s office. “You brought the fucking suit I bought you few weeks ago? That’d garner some attention with the customers. Being new and all.”

Nigel helps his little brother dress in the Armani suit that he had bought for him, streamlined, slender and clinging to all of the natural curves. Accompanying waistcoat lighter and tight around the lean waist. His calloused, deft fingers doing the buttons, without the jacket for easy movement. “Roll up your fucking sleeves like this and as you fucking haven’t done this like ever, I’ll be there to help you out if you need me to be, but I’ll teach you the most popular drink in our club, the cosmopolitan, girls fucking love this stuff.”

Past the hectic movements and all the hustle and bustle as the crowds waiting outside the club storms in for their night away full of drug, sex and booze, Nigel is dressed in his usual leathery jeans that glimmer in front, the wash of the jeans accentuating the muscles in his thigh as the flayed and rugged look gives off his vibe. In his threadbare shirt that defines his broad shoulder and narrow hips, the shift of his hips reveal the gold-capped gun tucked behind him, along with crushed pack of cigarettes, lighter inside it and a half-empty flask.

As the night progresses, it is clear that Hannibal majorly and utterly sucks at what he is doing. Even though Nigel is there to assist him and to show him different types of drinks, the drinks are horrendous to Nigel’s taste. Although watching his little brother struggle is the most amusing and adorable thing. The one thing that bothers the fuck out of Nigel is how much attention Hannibal is getting. All those fucking eyes, he seriously considers gouging them out and serving himself a bowl of them to crush under his feet.

Shaking off the morbid and violent thoughts, his intense and penetrative gaze follows one particularly greasy and plumpy individual whose eyes seem to undress Hannibal’s suits. “No, for how many fucking times I tell you, it’s your first time and it’s okay to horrendously suck, but you seem to be getting some ‘unwanted’ attention from the greasy fuck. Don’t go outside the fucking counter.” Watching Hannibal give another try on cosmopolitan, Nigel rounds the corner of the counter and bangs the fucker who had been eying on his gorgeous brother, his princess.

After about ten brief minutes, Nigel’s wind-chafed ashen locks gets a coat of splattered blood, which trickles down the side of his sharp cheekbone. Carelessly wiping it with the back of his hand and resuming to wash his hands as if nothing had happened, he proceeds to wash his hand at the sink and bumps his hip against Hannibal. “That better fucking taste good or I’m whipping you the number of fucking messed up drink I had to down it in order to not waste the good liquor.” Feeling the rising heat from the core as he flashes a smirk, he had counted just how many glasses. Twelve in total already.


	75. Nigel takes Hannibal shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New York AU drabble prompt: Nigel takes Hannibal shopping to get him out of his preppy-ish clothes and into something more stylish.

“Don’t fucking tell me you’re gonna wear those to go shopping, one day I am fucking ripping those off your wardrobe and getting you a fucking whole new makeover.” Shaking his head in disapproving note, Nigel roughly tugs Hannibal’s pressed slacks off the narrow waistband and flops down on the mattress, lazily pulling on the undershirt and button-up shirt. With an unceremonious grunt and lift of his hips, he pulls his jeans over his hips, the belt buckle clanking around his groin as his lips purse once more as the bed dips with his weight.

“I don’t fucking care if they’re big on you, wear these, these are skin tight, so it should look like one of those oversized jeans that hung snugly around your hips, loose fit or whatever the fuck they’re called.” Walking inside his vast walk-in closet, Nigel pulls one of those super skinny ones that he likes to wear with oversized or long sweaters, because his bulge was so visible even without his erect growing interest.

“What’s wrong with what I have already? They’re perfectly fine.” Hannibal looks over around his section, neatly hung and pressed slacks and button-down shirt with sweaters hanging. “You should dress more like your fucking age. You are already a fucking bookish nerd and those clothes don’t fucking help at all. More in cool looking clothes, like jeans, leather and even suits. And I should fucking get you an overcoat. It’s fall already and it’s gonna get fucking cold.”

Putting on what Nigel had thrown at him, Hannibal looks up at his brother. His dark locks falling over his face as he tugs loose jeans up. “You can borrow one of my fucking belts, don’t fucking tell me you’re gonna use one of your own, those are for your goddamn boring and bleak trousers. Ugh. Speaking of the damn makeover, I’ll give you a mini one today.”

Having ridden behind Nigel many times already, Hannibal holds his brother’s lean waist tightly and presses his cheek against the warmth-radiating back. Mingling of scents that he now always associates with his brother are all there. Cigarettes, whiskey, musk, motor oil, even traces of gunpowder and sweat. With each strong and deep breaths athwart his own, they seem to match as one beats as a response to another. As they make to Bloomingdales, intending to make a one-stop, instead of walking along SoHo, where Nigel surely knows will be pouring with tourists and locals alike, the bike dexterously maneuvers around the hectic traffic, swerving around the yellow taxis and pedestrians that swarm the road like bees near the flower. Considering the time of the year and the weather, which is cloudless and not too cold despite being a day in a mid-November, shopping won’t be so quick and fast, like many things in life that are good.

“Thank fuck the road isn’t too too crowded though. I can speed through those damn fucking taxis.” Having used to this kind of crowd, Nigel huffs as he parks the bike a few block off the department store. “Come, I know the fucking perfect place we can get all the things we need.” Once helmet comes off and Hannibal’s slender leg swings to dismount, Nigel’s fingers close around his brother’s wrist and intertwines his fingers, leading him inside. With the most loving smirk he can flash, Nigel sorts through the racks, hopping from brands to brands, in search for a perfect topcoat, bomber jacket, a loose sweater that would accentuate Hannibal’s sharp collarbones and few button-ups that doesn’t look boring and dreadful in Nigel’s definition. Something Hannibal could wear when he ever decides to surprise him at the club and come for a drink or two.

“Those look… Very expensive and completely different than what I own, I don’t know I’ll look good in them like you do.” Looking at mounds of clothes draping off from Nigel’s arm, Hannibal’s eyes grow wide. “And you want me to try all of those stuff.”

Leading Hannibal towards one of the back stall in the fitting room, Nigel puts all the clothes on the bench and sits cross-legged on it, handing the inner layers first. “Lose the fucking clothes and why don’t you put those on first?” I want to see you whole. In my style, just like how I fucking envisioned you to be.”

With a rattling sigh, Hannibal starts to lift the hem of his sweater and pulls them off, and his white button-down shirt comes off next. “That’s it, and put this on for me.” A hand presses against Hannibal’s taut stomach as Nigel rounds an arm around his brother, guiding him down on his lap. “I already fucking know your size, so why don’t we try on just few things and we can get all of these to go.” As Hannibal puts on the loose sweater, a dark brown one with a boatneck that covers his upper thighs, his bulge under the tight leathery jeans tent, as his brother’s ass brushes over it. “Let’s make this fucking trying on part much more intriguing, shall we?”


	76. A Surprising Find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NY AU prompt - Nigel finds human organs in the freezer.

Serene and tranquil, Nigel finds himself lying naked on still warm bed, thick duvet covering his upper thigh, his morning glory immediately felt upon rousing. Hannibal’s pressing warmth having disappeared, but the evidence is still there as the rumpled sheets and the trace of spent cum still wet against his thigh. A strong ray of the late morning sunlight hitting his broad back as he stretches languidly, a long yawn stretching his big mouth and jaw open, which makes a soft crack. His ashen hair all mussed up and the thick luscious strands shining like the foam on a glass of cappuccino, he drapes a leopard patterned robe loosely around his shoulder and saunters off outside the living room, grabbing a few soiled shirt in the way to the utility room to throw them in the hamper. At least the housekeeper will come later to clean up the squalid house.

With Hannibal working during the morning shift and with him gone most of the time for the late night to early in the morning, dinnertime had been the time he looked most forward to. They often would meet when Hannibal’s lunchtime and Nigel would always introduce him to the new expensive restaurants where they had savored gustatory possibilities, as well as copulatory ones, relishing the hedonistic lifestyle Nigel had sought after. He would always have his little brother to have the most expensive and aesthetically pleasing plates. 

Scratching his hips and a hand gliding across his erection, he saunters off to make some coffee in French press, some lukewarm coffee in the pot, about an inch. Putting more grounds in and opening the fridge to see if there was any leftover alfredo pasta with grilled chicken and mushrooms that he had gotten a takeout for, the fresh brewed coffee begins to permeate the kitchen as he grabs his cell, making a reservation for Morimoto in Chelsea Market, his favorite being unagi don and fresh tuna sashimi.

Rummaging through the fridge to find something more substantial to cook as a side, possibly a few spicy sausage links or thickly sliced bacon to go along with the leftover, he finds a suspicious vacuum packaged organs. His intense hazel orbs growing double in size, he begins to inspect the contents, squeezing and poking through the package. “Not from a cow or a pig… These lungs and heart look small.” The heart is exactly as big as his fist and the dark crimson, which he surely knows from watching human corpses. The recent trip to the morgue and his little brother’s education on the human anatomy. A dozen of emotions pass through his brain at once like flicks of slides, a bit of regret as to asking Hannibal about where it had originated from. Perhaps Marcus hadn’t been his first kill and had been using his position as an intern at a respectable hospital where many people surely died from diseases and accidents would be easy to come across corpses he could tamper with. A curiosity takes most of his thoughts. Judging the looks of it, the organs haven’t been there for long, which means they are fresh.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he takes out the liver, which would be the most easiest to cook. Already having had many variety of dishes made with lamb’s liver, he figures human liver wouldn’t be so different in taste or difficult to cook. Hoping to cook what he knows as the most simplest dish he can make in short time while he reheats the pasta, he quickly sautes the mix of diced onions, thickly sliced bacon slices and liver. Watching the fresh organ turn brown and the pores begin to absorb the bacon fat and sizzle, the sweet scent of onions and spices from the paprika and savory scent of vegetable stock mixing with the meaty grease, he dials Hannibal’s number on quick dial. “I need your fucking ass down in front of the hospital at 11:30 sharp. I’m going to take you to a particularly befitting restaurant today to talk about the findings, which I am rather intrigued than shocked.” Giving a tilt of the frying pan, he slides the steamy, sizzling contents onto the plate, while retrieving the pasta from the oven.


	77. Inseparable for Evermore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble about my muse trying to get over someone

If Hannibal had been the one to break his heart open and shattered it into a million little pieces, Gabi had plucked him out when he could have almost perished from the world. After layers of soiled rags after another, his tainted and fragile mind had waiting for his slow and painfully excruciating demise. Surrounded by the dampness and foul stench of his humid Bucharest flat, pallid, his blank and mindless hazel eyes opened as they grow filmy. Who he called associates and coworkers, someone who he had at least opened a bit of his fortified walls, having no one to rescue him out of his own pool of blood spilling out from his eviscerated side, a searing and smoldering burn radiated from his side as he watched his pale reflection staring from the black opal. Dragging his body across the threshold of his office as his slender legs paint paint-chipped floor with a broad and thick trail of crimson, he had managed to stitch himself after shooting morphine up his bloodstream. Having just enough energy to drag himself to the flat, he doesn’t even remember how he even got to his steel-framed bed. He remains unconscious for about a day, he had lost almost third of his blood. If he had lost more and hadn’t stitched himself in the process, he would’ve exsanguinated.

His dream filled with these dreadful thoughts. A cold sweat beginning to trickle down from the side of his face, his shoulder lurches in his sleep and Hannibal, sleeping beneath him, doesn’t miss his brother’s movement. A squint of his brows and a husky hum lifting Nigel’s chest, he falls into a deep slumber again and Hannibal’s hand strokes over the dip of his brother’s spine, stroking over the oblique muscle. Watching Nigel’s eyes rapidly move behind the closed eyes, finger moves a lock of ashen hair off his sharp cheekbone and Hannibal falls asleep soon.

His head pressing deep against the sweat-drenched pillow, the humid Romanian summer does nothing good against his open gash, enduring his pain by solely relying on morphine pills and the last bag of coke to forget the pain now fully consuming and burning his body from inside out. The cello music coming from downstairs cafe had been his only comfort and something his mind could focus on, other than the pain. His darling Gabi, he missed her dearly. Having experienced a near-death, she had been the person that was hard to forget. Although his first love had been his brother, but she had been the one who saved him from dying. Both physically and mentally. If it wasn’t for her, even after he had survived from the prominent gash still giving off unpleasant sensations now due to complications and ongoing infections, he would have died with his narcotic abuse and his bouts of self-destructiveness.

One of the images his mind has it still etched inside his mind is the day when his wound had been healed enough. Enough to go down the cafe to sit by the window with a cup of strong and bitter coffee in front of him, looking over the stifling sun streaming down against the interior of a small establishment. Waiting for his steamy bowl of Romanian meatball soup to arrive, he looks at the young woman playing the cello, a petite woman’s frame almost completely covered with the body of the instrument. The sight of Gabi and how he had looked as he stared at the glass reflecting his still pallid and angular form, merging into an image, something that he considered perfect until he reunited with his brother after Gabi had left him.

Basking in the morning light, almost blinding as it radiates through the bed the brothers’ are slumbering in, Nigel begins to mutter quietly in his sleep, almost inaudible, but still breaking the dead silence of their unified breaths. “Te iubesc si dor de tine atat de mult dracului.” I love you and miss you so fucking much. Those words aren’t something that he ever imagined of saying, now that his broken heart was all fixed by the same person who had shattered it and made it stronger and he thought he had forgotten, or at least pushed the vivid memory into his subconscious, far enough that it would take some time to pluck it out.

Hannibal doesn’t have to comprehend the words to take in the underlying tones, nostalgic, affectionate and dripping with sadness and longing. With his lips parting, Nigel’s liquid eyes open suddenly, like the camera shutter opening in an instant, thick lashes fluttering as his cheek rubs against his brother’s pectorals, a hand brushing over the teardrops rolling off to the side. He doesn’t intend to shed another teardrops of waterfall, as it is worth nothing. She’s already dead, along with that runty cunt Charlie whatever the fuck his last name was.

Hannibal doesn’t pretend to sleep, as his brother would already register. Sitting on the edge of the bed and swinging a leg over to the side, his finger grabs the end of the cigarette and lights it, his head hitting the headboard with a soft thud. “I fucking dreamed of her again, I want it to fucking stop.”

Upturned gaze piercing through Nigel’s side turned gaze as his twin drops another teardrop to the sheets underneath them, Hannibal sighs long and turns his body sideways towards his brother, stroking his thigh. “We killed her, ate her heart and she’s gone. I know she had been with you in the most desperate times when I couldn’t, but now you have me.”

A long inhale contracting his abdomen, Nigel lets out a heavy puff through his fingers, taking another long drag and watching it draw a small curly faint lines from the cigarette. “Do we have any of her fucking meat, I remember you smoking the entire fucking leg few days ago with those chips.” There are days he had feeling especially inclined for a kill, not out of mere lust for blood, but to let the pent out anger. As much as he longed and etched the brief time when Hannibal had been out of his mind, the cello music healing the wounded animal back to health, but he hadn’t been out of sight. The things he would see when he partook of the arts, he had reminisced of their days at the opera, sneaking inside to listen to the orchestra play while they engaged in ‘other’ activities. Ironically enough, where he had drifted into had been the hub of cultural and historic architecture, earning the nickname of ‘Little Paris.’

“Did I ever fucking tell you your presence was with me no matter hard I fucking tried, you were inside my head all the fucking time after all.” As much as he wanted to deny the fact, almost everything he did there had been the afterglow of everything that they did in adolescent years. Leaving much resonance afterwards.

“That’s why we’re twins, Nigel. Inseparable for evermore.”


	78. December 24th, Christmas Eve.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Main verse drabble prompt: The twins can't get out to pick up their christmas gifts for each other bc of a blizzard. Have to come up with last minute replacements so they have something to exchange on christmas eve.

“Fucking god… brrrr, was there any fucking weather forecast saying that it’s gonna pour a shit fuck tons of snow today?”

Barging inside the front door as his heavy boots gets all of the excess snow off on the doormat and polished hardwood floor underneath, Nigel grumbles as his bike keys jangle inside his hand. Throwing them over the foyer near the hangar, his overcoat on top of his padded leather jacket gets thrown off near the couch where Hannibal is sitting, who is reading from iPad and what looks like a tome with his glasses on.

“In fact, there was, since last night, it was all over the news that the blizzard is going to get worse and entrap us in for a few days.” Hannibal puts his iPad and notebook down, in the middle of writing the scholarly article about anxiety attacks among middle aged patients. “Which means we won’t get the chance to go out until Christmas day, thankfully the fridge is stocked from the particularly rude man we have killed just few days ago. The clay roasted thigh that you always seem to love is already in the oven.”

The unperturbed white mounds beginning to pile up, the fireplace radiates warmth as the golden orange glows from the pit, flames crackling as Nigel sticks his hands nearby, removing his leather padded gloves for riding in the cold weather. His flushed sharp cheekbones regaining color. “I might fucking have planned something, but fuck this shit, it’s not going to arrive until next year then.” A customized matching leather jacket, that would’ve been Hannibal’s gift for Christmas. When the weather warmed up a bit, he planned to take a road trip to upstate New York, where they could lounge and even visit Hannibal’s second house up in Maine.

“And so does what I have planned, but I am sure we can arrange something in substitution.” Hannibal’s lips curl up in a smirk, already thinking about the replacement. “You are in luck, dear brother, as I have just the perfect thing to surprise you with.” Putting down his reading glasses, Hannibal struts across the stairs with his usual graceful movements, his thick socked feet padding slowly, but not too slow. Careful and measured.

“Then we’re fucking meeting down at the basement. Fucking drag your sweet firm pussy down there.” Reciprocating the same smirk, Nigel’s expression broadens into a grin before he swiftly strides across the living room, heading towards the kitchen with a determined movement. Knowing what Hannibal has gotten him would be definitely something of the best, as he didn’t lack the money nor resources to do so. In fact, it had been a leather trimmed duffle bag that Nigel had been drooling over for few months. For the function and design, the particularly extravagant luxurious accessory had been made with the most expensive lambskin, it would get better and luscious with use, if Nigel takes care of the material with care.

The brothers retreating to their respective space to surprise each other, it is not often that Nigel wears anything like this, for ever since his adolescent years. Hannibal would’ve seen glimpses of it and only few of his exclusive clients who had more money to roll him on. The crisp bills clutched close to his heart when everything was done, leaving him in the mess of glistening amalgamation of fluids.

“Ready? I’m in the fucking basement now, behind the door.” Nigel’s husky tone echoes off of the dark walls, the lingering smell of antiseptic still heavy in the air. All the tools neatly arranged on the tray for their next planned kill, just after the snowstorm passes.

Hannibal’s soft footstep rings as his statuesque, toned figure appears before the stairs inside the pantry. Donning leather from head to toe, tight shirt and even more tighter leather pants that Nigel would frequently wear. His maroon eyes glinting as if he’s in his plastic suit in a predator mode. A thick belt tying everything in place. His gloved hand turns the latch towards the basement.

“Come in front of the fucking operating table.” Nigel’s low and exceptionally sultry tone, much lower than usual, bounces off the basement as his form appears in front of Hannibal. In thigh high boots, the sharp click of the high, thin heels travel straight through Hannibal’s eardrums, down to his bulging growing erection. The lacy black panties matching the boot’s color does nothing to hide Nigel’s length, the transparent fabric already seeping wet with glistening liquid.

“Hopefully this will interest you until that fucking roast is done.” Closing the distance and whispering seductively against Hannibal’s ear, Nigel’s deft fingers undo the zip on his brother’s tight leather. “Are you going to do what I think you’ll do.” Hannibal’s baritone cutting into the silence as his erection pops out with Nigel’s hand immediately pumping the base, a satisfied hum rattles Hannibal’s chest as the smoldering heat rises from his core. “Why don’t you fucking let me do all the work, you fucking love my lips, it’s no fucking secret now, then I /might/ let you have me for a change.” A burning hand painting a wide stripe on center of Hannibal’s defined muscles, Nigel pushes his brother against the table and lowers himself, his piercing eyes locked on the throbbing and flushed cock begging for attention.


	79. Hannibal's Feminine Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NY AU drabble prompt: Nigel buys Hannibal something to help him get in touch with his 'feminine' side.

It had been few weeks since Hannibal began to live with him and their usual busy weekdays continued. Finally a Friday morning rolled around and they would have all day and night to themselves. Hannibal had been off to the hospital at ungodly hours of the morning like usual, only about an hour after when Nigel got back from work. At least they had some time to enjoy their warmth pressing against his body. After getting up, Hannibal’s first thing to do was to look at his brother’s face and observing all the details. As he didn’t get the chance too often. Those smoldering and intense eyes, penetrating enough to undress him gingerly closed, the soft creases around the eyes and slightly parted lips. The defined muscles falling and rising in slow rhythm. Pecking a soft kiss on Nigel’s cheek as a hand strokes over the strong curve of the shoulder and biceps, appreciating the unclothed form as he walks to the fridge, where he knows will find something Nigel had written before he fell asleep.

His usual, seemingly uncaring scrawl greets Hannibal’s eyes. Now accustomed to his brother’s handwriting, he doesn’t have any problem recognizing the alphabets.

____

Hannibal,

I want you to drag your fucking ass as soon as the club opens, 10pm sharp. There’s a private room next to my fucking office, you would know, you’ve already been there multiple times. There should be a flat black box on the glass table. I don’t fucking want you to open it until I get there. If you do, I’ll fucking spank you until your ass ignites with fire.

Nigel.

P.S. Do order whatever the fuck you’d like to drink. You know it’s all on the house.

____

Finding already pre-packaged sandwiches, a few days’ worth of them, as Nigel usually stops by one particular store and buys a bunch at times, Hannibal chews through half of it and leaves the leftover inside the fridge and grabs a bottle of orange juice as he leaves the penthouse. Riding his most recent purchase by his brother, the same model with a different, customized options added on, moving around the hectic Manhattan had been definitely easier.

Mount Sinai had been merely few blocks, but knowing that Fridays had been the most busiest in his internship at the hospital as he had weekly meetings to attend to, he would have just enough time to change back to the suitable attire back at their place and head to Nigel’s club.

His mind constantly imagining what might be the content of the flat black box, Hannibal listens through one ear and half-focuses through the meeting. He had already been aware of the contents of the meeting in advance, because he had been one of those people who simply excelled at everything he did. Might be being Nigel’s little princess and a whore, or at his work, completely immersed in his work, leaving no space for his flaws.

Already nine o’clock after not having anything to eat since his late lunch, Hannibal grabs the remaining sandwich from the fridge and finds another scrawl by the fridge door.

Hannibal - Your fucking skinny stomach needs to be full before you drag your ass down here, there are pierogis inside the fridge I left for you, finish all of those and throw the damn trash before you take off. Then I’ll wine and dine after my surprise.

The pierogis are filled with cottage cheese and potatoes and sauteed with caramelized onions. Savoring the dish as best as he can, Hannibal’s bike soon pulls over in front of the staff entrance. Knowing Hannibal by his face as Nigel had taken him frequently through the entrance, the bouncer lets him in and leads him towards the office. Passing in front of Nigel’s office and finding the room pitch black, he wonders where his brother could be.

The back room draws the blaring noise of the club down to mere reverberations, Hannibal enters to the room, the soft orange and red glow fills the room as usual. The velvet couch and glass table greeting him. Sitting down and relaxing into the plush cushion, he is tempted to open the carefully wrapped box, with silver trimmed gold ribbon wrapped around the flat black box. A finger brushing over the course ribbon with raised edge, he withdraws it instantly when he hears a knock on the door. A waiter comes inside and informs that Nigel had gone out and will be about ten minutes late. Hannibal nods and orders a dirty martini and herbed fries with garlic chips, along with few draft beer. Eagerly waiting for his brother to make his presence known, he sees a faint smoke clouding the view outside the closed door. As soon as Nigel makes Hannibal’s face inside the room, his lips arch up in a gentle smirk as he barges inside, a puff of smoke exhaling through his nostrils as he shuts the door.

“Ah, I see you have made yourself comfortable.” Almost as soon as Nigel sits beside his brother and strokes his thigh, the waiter brings Hannibal’s order and sets in in front of him. Nigel grabs the flat box and puts it on Hannibal’s lap, urging him to open. “I want you to open the fucking box and undress for me.” Locking the door, taking his leather jacket off in a haste and crossing his legs in front, Nigel lifts his fingers as he grabs onto the smoke, the other hand grabbing the draft beer glass and takes a long chug.

Hannibal’s eyes curiously drift onto the box and his fingers pull at the ribbon. Opening the box, his cheeks immediately flush in shades of red as he sees a lacy and flimsy panties with garter belts and thin lace pullover that would do nothing to hide his erection or his dark chest fluff. “You want me… to wear these?” As much as he wants to deny it, Hannibal had been turned on by the lace and imagining how he would look like under the smooth silk, the black contrasting against his pale skin.

“Ignore the fucking price tag and wear those for me, those are all customized, of course I’d know your size intimately.” Nigel’s lips curling up, he grabs fistful of the fries and pats his lap. “I’ll help you get undressed.”


	80. Their Idea of Working Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NY AU drabble prompt: Hannibal coaxes Nigel into joining a fitness club. Nigel wants to do anything but work out (well, work out in the traditional sense XD)

“You fucking want me to join a goddamn fitness club?” His brows arching up in most displeased manner, Nigel’s forehead furrows as he holds up Hannibal’s iPad. “You already fucking know we get enough of damn workout of our own and I don’t fucking need any workout to be fit nor maintain this fucking gorgeous body as you already know that too.” On their bed as they had retreated early for the night on their off-day, one of the rare occasion as the sunset paints their penthouse bedroom with shades of red and orange, the vivid horizon in the distance crashes in contradicting colors, clouds of ultramarine, crimson and cadmium blending to create the floating atmosphere of chromatic waves. The Central Park flooding with the crowds, tourists and locals alike, working out or taking a stroll. Having a picnic or sunbathing under the setting sun.

Laying on his stomach and stroking Nigel’s strong neck, Hannibal slides his iPad in front of his brother. His fingers disappearing into his brother’s cappuccino-toned, luscious hair. “See, we could try spinning or pilates. They’re supposed to be fun and engaging.” His slender pale fingers gliding across the surface of the screen, Hannibal shows the video on the website. “The club has the private workrooms, showers, everything. It’ll be exclusive.”

Cocking his head, Nigel’s arm winds around Hannibal’s narrow waist. “Fuck with the exclusive nonsense crap and what the fuck is spinning? Ugh, pilates, those are for fucking girls.” With a firm shake of head as his brow furrows, a exasperated sigh lifts Nigel’s chest as the hand on his brother’s bare skin tightens, fingers feeling the firm, youthful flesh.

“Spinning is done on a stationary bike with some kind of dance moves incorporated into the workout. Imagine if your strong muscular thighs got even more impressive, those propelling to thrust into me. Just picture it happening.” His cheeks blushing as he speaks, Hannibal lays on his side, stroking a hand over Nigel’s subtle curve along the dip of the spine, up to the firm ass.

“I fucking hate sitting stationary for that fucking long and if I have to fucking pay that much for a month, I’m just gonna have my own fucking personal fitness gym right here in the living room, it’s got enough fucking space.” His leg pressing between Hannibal’s legs, his erection brushes against the crevice of his brother’s ass. “Just two treadmills, some weights, I’ll even teach you how to fight off those sleazy fuckers who hit on you, just in case you need to fend off. I’m sure I’ll be there to kick their fucking worthless butts off.” His broad hand kneading the firm globe, Nigel puts the iPad on the nightstand and moves on top of his brother. Both hands sensuously running against the firm shoulder blades down to feel each of the vertebrae.

“Can we get some yoga mats? I always wanted to learn some movements, you know. To make myself flexible for same copulatory reasons.” Hannibal’s hips lift up, pressing against Nigel’s front as his brother turns them sideways, the older man’s arm draping over and under his head.

“I’ll fucking get you a personal yogini, or do you prefer yogi? I fucking don’t want them hitting on you or they’re fucking dead meat.” Nigel’s askance glance hits across Hannibal’s face as he nuzzles into his brother’s neck, pressing his lips against the curve of the neck. “I-I just need a book, I have done it before and I can teach you some moves, too.” Feeling the hard length press between the crevice of his ass, Hannibal instinctively rocks against Nigel’s groin.

“I’ll get everything ready by tomorrow and if we can get sweaty even before I fuck your sweet pussy, then more for me to savor you. I’ll buy whatever the fuck you need to meet your needs. Fucking best for you, always.” Lifting one of Hannibal’s legs as his length disappears into Hannibal’s heat, his arm winds around his brother’s chest, holding him down as his obliques tighten, muscles clenching and thrusting as they ripple.


	81. A Motorcycle Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NY AU drabble prompt - a minor motorcycle accident leaves Nigel in Mount Sinai with a broken leg in traction for a few days. Hannibal wants to help him pass the time and ease his suffering.

A lifelong and avid motorcycle rider and having lived more than a decade in the city that never dies, Nigel had trusted his abilities and skills in maneuvering his bad boy, a Ducati. Sleek and made for speed with its streamlined body and fierce front, he enjoyed speed whenever he could. This time had been no exception, but the oncoming accident around I-95 had him halting too frequently. On his way back from Upstate New York from a meeting with a wealthy client, the traffic congestion was lengthening his trip. Having stopped for almost ten minutes, he texts Hannibal, who would be still at work. He had wanted to meet his brother in front of Mount Sinai to head to his favorite burger joint down near West Village for their roquefort cheese burger with shoestring fries.

With the accident finally cleared and the road open for him to gain a bit of speed through the traffic again, his marvelous plan for the night comes to a halt as the upcoming car from the innermost line clashes with the left side of the bike. Thankfully, he had maintained the legal speed and the accident hadn’t been too severe, although he was sure his calf had been broken as the heavy metal flipped to the other side, his right leg entrapped under the metal, cutting the blood flow.

The pain wasn’t something he couldn’t handle and although Mount Sinai was about half an hour of drive from here, Nigel had specifically requested that he be taken to the hospital. “My brother works there… Fuck! Ah.. I don’t fucking care, just shoot me some damn morphine and I’ll be fucking fine.” Gritting his teeth as he bites his lower lip, the excruciating half-hour trip feels more like fivefold. At least the morphine takes effect and he doesn’t feel emitting unpleasantness anymore as his wide-eyed hazel irises remain somewhat distant, in a trance-like state.

As soon as his bleary eyes make the familiar shape of the hospital architecture, Nigel texts Hannibal to get his fucking ass down at the ER. Knowing that his brother had been on a night shift, at least he would be there to keep him company. The morphine already wearing off as his high tolerance made the drug’s effect to be at a minimum, beads of sweat rolls down the dip of his spine as the doctors x-ray his shin to check the severity of the fracture. “Your right tibia is fractured, but it’s nothing major, although there is bruising and tenderness, you should be able to head home after few days.”

Hannibal, in his lab coat, hurries down to see Nigel’s slightly pale face, worry painted on his face as he walks by the nurse. “It’s nothing severe, is it? What happened??”

“A motorcycle accident. Thank fuck my fucking leg’s intact, although… My badass bike is in need of a fucking repair.” Slightly wincing as the nurse gives him more painkillers, Hannibal takes his brother up to one of the private rooms, the doctor gives the consent as he drags Nigel up on the wheelchair to immobilize your leg with a splint. “I don’t care about the bike, you should’ve been more fucking careful, Nigel. I don’t want you getting hurt.” His soft hands accessing the fracture, he begins to set the splints along the length of Nigel’s shin.

“How long I’m fucking supposed to stuck inside the goddamn hospital?”

“For about two days, we need to take CT scans to see if there’s any other damage. Through the x-ray, I think you’re going to be fine with these splints, but no strenuous movements for a while.”

Hazel eyes rolling as his downward gaze looks at the swollen flesh, his sigh is so long and deep that Hannibal smells the faint scent of cigarettes and what his brother had for lunch, a pepperoni pizza.

“No, fucking, strenuous, movement. Fucking shit. How am I gonna pound your sweet pussy?” Moving his leg as he appreciates Hannibal’s quick yet dexterous movements, he doesn’t even feel the pain as more painkiller takes effect.

“I’ll do all the work, you just sit still. After I let you cum in my mouth, I’ll ride you until you fall asleep.” Locking the door behind him as Hannibal removes his lab coat, his hand strokes between Nigel’s legs, feeling the warmth radiate as the growing erection tents against his palm. “Been fucking hard on the goddamn bike thinking about you.” Nigel’s hips shift as he struggles to keep still.


	82. Powerballing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NY AU, a short fourteen-min drabble

It had been a rare occasion which Nigel’s body had draped over Hannibal’s, skin to skin, pressed firmly as the unyielding morning sun breaks through their glass pane windows, unfiltered and unperturbed. The view of the room screams the night before’s debauchery. Strewn whiskey bottles, overflowing ashtray full of butts and ashes and there are something Hannibal hadn’t seen before. A trace of crack which must have been rolled by his brother and syringes. He doesn’t even have to read the label of the contents to find that they are indeed morphine.

“Goddamnit, Nigel..” His brother’s body especially feels heavy as Hannibal tries to pull himself free from the sinking weight. At least it’s his off-day and he doesn’t have to hurry on his foot to get everything ready in a haste. A hand over his brother’s heart confirms his rising suspicion, Nigel is not fucking breathing.

Eyes growing wide and turning to grab his brother’s waist, that hand which screams masculinity with veins spread out like thick roots spreading under the fertilized soil, the fat veins underneath the hard and sun-kissed caramel skin has no pulse whatsoever. A hand still on the still static heart, another reaches for the neck under the sharp jaw, the jugular vein for the sure confirmation. He knows Nigel isn’t completely faded just yet. Albeit fluttering and weak, the fleeting pulse is still there.

His teeth grinding, his sharp maroon screams the words out silently. How can you get so fucking stupid and careless? I thought you were over this shit. Tilting Nigel’s head and checking there aren’t anything obscuring the larynx, the pendulum swings inside his mind and he quickly disregards the thought of slapping Nigel’s rather tranquil looking face. Eyes gently closed, the creases around the eyes softened, the luscious matted macchiato colored bangs veiled over the sharp cheekbones. A bit of foam on the corner of slightly parted mouth. He could almost smell the cigarettes along with the thick white shrouds of fog that have filled up and dissipated into the air as it had been last night.

After about half an hour or so, Hannibal’s unclothed form is drenched in sweat as two hands are folded in front of him, having watched the chest rise and fall along with his compressions. Having lost count in his mind as it raced like an unstoppable freight train heading straight onto the bluff by the curve of the railtrack, every muscle in his body aches and trembles afterwards. But it is all worth it to look into those hazel orbs, much brighter looking, but still sleep laden. As if he had just woken up from a long, still slumber. The green specks in Nigel’s irises shake like the flute in his hand, the drink inside swirling and creating a bit of foam.

A soft inhale afterwards, Nigel still feels the bit of lingering drug’s effect, his head fuzzy and the view becomes a whirl of blurs, the edges and hard surfaced blended like soft cotton balls.

Although he had it all, all the money he had wanted, his coveted club, his clandestine activities at night that seemed unaware, this side of him left him powerless. Relinquishing his control to no one, except for the fleeting euphoric high even his brother couldn’t sate his corporeality, which seemed to completely been gripped by the deadly combination of stimulant and depressant.

“This fucking has to stop. I don’t want to lose you nor do this fucking thing again.” Letting out a trembling series of exhales, Hannibal’s sweat drips onto Nigel’s reddened skin on his chest, the visible evidence of Hannibal’s exertion on the sun-kissed skin. An amalgamation of tears and sweat painting across the pectorals.

A shaky sigh emitted, Nigel coughs a few times and pulls Hannibal’s pale body onto his. “I’ll go fucking cold turkey, no matter what the fuck happens, I won’t do it ever again.”


	83. Trousers Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble sentence prompt: "They're just not going to fit." - Done in five min.

“They’re just not going to fit.” 

Nigel cackles as he watches his brother, who is trying to put the suit trousers on. Still, Hannibal’s thighs were muscular and toned like his had been, but the bulging stomach had made the trousers without elastics not even close to buckling together. “Those fit me fine just a week ago.” Lips tilting downward in disappointment, Hannibal tugs the waistband tighter and tries to shove his flesh inside. “Don’t just fucking sit there and help me. These are my favorite and I want them to fit.” 

Grabbing a spicy crispy chicken burger Hannibal had craved in his hand and taking a hefty bite, Nigel walks towards his omega with the burger in his hand. Shoving his brother some as he tries to zip up the pants, his slender fingers sneak in between Hannibal’s legs, feeling bit of slick wet his fingertips. “What the fuck did I do now? I think from your scent of things and all, your heat is close, again.” Accentuating the last word, Nigel’s lips tug in a broad smirk, confirming that the stomach bulge had been getting bigger. 

“You have to stop fucking eating the fast food. You told me those were abominable before getting pregnant with twin girls and now you fucking want them all the time?” After an amused chuckle, he flashes another smirk, more like a toothy grin before lowering himself to pull out a flat box underneath the king-sized bed. 

“Why don’t you lose the fucking pants and open this box?” Even before Nigel finishes ordering his mate, his hand moves swiftly to pull down not fitting pants and takes out the same pants, exactly same plaid patterned, but with elastics. “Oh my god, you really want me to wear those things.” With a shake of his head, Hannibal’s maroon orbs narrow, but he wants to put them on and see if they really look like regular pants. 

“You’re gonna wet those and ruin them with the amount of slick you’re leaking. What about I take care of that and you can try them on after.”


	84. Nigel's Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel leaving Hannibal a 'nice' message.

Out of three hundred thirty five days, it’s one of those extremely rare days that Nigel rouses earlier than his early bird brother does. Finding Hannibal still slumbering beside him as he briefly watches the slow rise and fall of his twin’s chest, he grumbles inaudibly as he scratches his bedhead, as well as his sharp obliques as he slides off from the bed. Checking the unread messages on his phone, he almost facepalms himself for not remembering the short excursion to New York, the meeting with his client taking place in just five hours from now over lunch at the exclusive suite at Marriott.

Fucking shit.. More profanities uttered as he frantically pads inside the bathroom to wash off the evidence from last night’s exerting activity, the shower is a haste one as his dry ashen caramel hair is still matte and dry. Striding into the walk-in closet, donning his usual all-black, form-fitting suit as he throws the tie over on the hanger. Never a fan of throat-constricting accessory.

Before he throws a bag full of his usual stuff, his fat wallet with a few crisp bills poking off the well-worn leather, his handgun with a backup glock, a few cartilages, a small zip-lock bag of coke with his personal pipe, a flask half-full of whiskey (he plans to refill it on the way out) and bundled documents needed for this particular meeting.

Letting the thought of leaving the message on Hannibal’s broad back with a permanent marker slide, he tears a blank page off from his note, filled with his typically careless scrawls and doodles off the corner of the note.

_Hannibal,_

_I completely fucking forgot I had this goddamn meeting in NY. I might be back tonight or who the fuck knows with these fucking people. Most likely late afternoon tomorrow at the latest if I fucking pass out from getting fucking inebriated. If I do the fucking talk and get some extra cash on my side, I might be able to buy that fucking Prada oxfords that you’ve been drooling over since last week. I know you had fuck tons of sessions and conferences in between, so I’ll do the fucking work after I let myself off of those fucking filthy rich clients, hell, I might surprise you with my own fucking gift._

_Don’t fucking drool so much on the pillow nor the goddamn magazine. I’ll call you when I arrive in NY. If I feel especially nice, I’ll have my face on video chat and let you cum again like I did the other night._

_Au revoir et à bientôt, fucking love._

_Nigel._

  
Then with a lipstick, he draws a big heart on the expanse of Hannibal’s back and writes a word that will surely send his older twin either to blush or to steam his ass off. Setting the volume on Hannibal’s phone at the loudest, after filing the flask up and enrobing his leather jacket with a cigarette tilting between his lips, he storms out and mounts on the bike. As a first heavy puff escapes through his slitted mouth, he calls his brother’s phone and takes off with a wide smirk stretching his lips from cheek to cheek.


	85. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sentence prompt: I’m not taking the easy way out.

_I’m not taking the easy way out._

Maintaining a facade of a happily married couple had its dues. After all, Gabi’s cello music had healed the wounded animal, but she hadn’t realized who Nigel truly was and what he was capable of doing. Unblinking and blank when he killed people, his possessive nature constricted the independent and strong woman’s airpipe like a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of its prey. Hearing Hannibal’s death hadn’t been the easiest to feign uninterest either. Although they had grown distanced, in fact, Nigel had never visited the States after his devastating breakup with his brother in Paris. Drifting from different cities and countries, he had ended up in ‘Little Paris,’ Bucharest, Romania out of all the places.

Seemingly tranquil mind began to ripple and soon, grew into a series of sweeping tsunami as his heart stirs, palpitating as his eyes quiver, his intense and penetrating hazel hues blank, in a completely different manner than his face when he kills. Distant, trance-like. He can’t recollect that day at all from his subconscious at all. The work had been usual as it flew by rather mundanely, the different thing had been registering it really had happened. All those days thinking his brother had been living affluently, with a respectable job and coveted doctorate degree. Always the smart one, while he had been the bad twin who sided with criminal activities from the early on. He didn’t see them as differently as the society did, but they were to label him as an uneducated fool that hunts for any kind of misfortune. Accusing him of trying to show off the only thing he knows.

He would gloat over to those people, but in his mind, the name Hannibal still gave him an irreparable heartache. As the tsunami sweeps across his body, his heart continues to thunder. A fucking syringe to the crook of the elbow, dropping dead inside the frigid Seine river of late fall. Where they had been riding moped countless times in their adolescent years.

In the end, his violent tendencies resurfaced and ignited more rapidly, already having made up his mind as to divorce his wife of two years and packing his essential belongings to head to the French Riviera, where all the things had began. Out from the orphanage, away from all those bullies and harsh caretakers. His, no, their first ‘real’ home.

Having collected Hannibal’s belongings inside their one-bedroom apartment, including the sketchbook he had gifted for their sixteenth birthday and the journal he hadn’t seen before with a scalpel and a fountain pen, he rides his most valuable thing he owns, his motorcycle that had gradually evolved since his secondhand moped he rode when he was fourteen. His picturesque memory recalling the first time he had been on the beach, rain begins pour as the petrichor rises off from the lush green near the shoreline. Soon completely drained with his liquid hazel eyes gazing downward as the heavy footprint his boots make, the shore washes all of his trails as waves rush upon his feet.

His heart throbbing violently as the waves begin to billow, the salty air begins to overwhelm his nostrils as the ocean water begins to envelope him. _Je prends un moyen facile. There’s no fucking way around it._

Then, everything becomes pitch-black as his peripheral vision catches the last glimpse of the light, the roar of the waves upon him as a mountain of a wave swallows him a whole.


	86. Nigel's Recurrent Dream

The grip on the hilt of the gold-capped gun tightening as Nigel amusedly walks over towards the edge of the hydroelectric dam, the surge of water roaring beneath Charlie, who hangs by his ankle, poised up with the medium-length rope by two of his associates hangs on for his dear fucked up life. The animosity he feels towards this runty cunt who would face a particularly and spectacularly horrible fate overwhelms the fucking love for his darling Gabi. A tug of war plays in his mind ever so briefly before the gunshot echos through the Romanian pitch-black night, only few flickering lights above him lighting this dramatic scene. 

The .54 caliber rips through Charlie’s lung and then exits off just few inches off from the spinal cord. The thick blood, looking more like a black veil floating against the surface of Charlie’s already beaten and bruised flesh covers and drips against the ledge of the dam. Drip…. drip…. along goes the Nigel’s unforgiving fury as the final gunshot cracks the poor young sap’s skull into pieces. The amalgamation of blood and brain matter splattering all over Nigel’s sharp cheekbones as a cruel smirk dips his cheek. However, he isn’t the one to escape unscathed nonetheless. Even with Charlie dead and descended down to the murky pitch-black water hundreds of feet beneath him, the result is all the same. Him becoming unconscious even before his limp body collapses on the concrete and the blood oozing to draw a heart-shape. The palpitating heart halts and the lub-dub of the heartbeat echoes through his eardrums. 

“Fucking shit… What the fuck.” His hand is instinctively on the faint orb of a scar still visible against the forehead, smack dab in the center of it. Hannibal immediately rouses, an assuring hand placed on his younger twin’s cheek. “Did you have another nightmare?” A concerned frown upon Hannibal’s face as he gently tugs the back of Nigel’s neck. “Those seems to be persistent and I thought you were sleeping peacefully all this time. At least your face looked serene.” 

A minute scowl creases the corner of Nigel’s eyes and the bridge of his nose. “What was supposed to fucking happen, but the result is all the fucking same. I mean, that fucking runty cunt and Gabi is already dead and all, but I can’t fucking escape the goddamn gunshot through my head.” Feeling his heart throb as the ventricles seem to beat out of whack, Nigel does his best to control his breathing. A thin film of sweat covering his unclothed form, an arm wraps around Hannibal as the duvet covers both of their shoulders via Hannibal’s fingers. Nigel had thought having killed both of them would suffice enough for his unconscious to let all of these repressed memories go and be submerged in a complete bliss with his brother. Now that all the previous evidence that tied his name to multiple accounts of murder vanished into the thin air. 

“I could minister you something if it continues to persist and becomes more bothersome, but I like you making little sounds and feel your fingers glide against my skin.” A minute smirk as his head tilts, Hannibal’s fingers entwine gently against his brother’s, squeezing a bit. “You fucking pervert, you have been awake all this fucking time?” A playful shove sends Hannibal towards the edge of the bed. A relieved sigh, and Nigel lays on his back, a slight perspiration still coating his curve of the lower spine as the duvet slides off of his broad shoulders. 

“All you can fucking minister for me is those fucking kisses and an occasional ‘something else,’ but sleep first.” Nose nuzzling against Hannibal’s crook, Nigel takes a not so discreet whiff on the curve of his brother’s jaw and settles close, sleep coming naturally as the moonlight basking through their wide windows shade over by the clouds beginning to form. Hannibal can even smell the crisp and chilled air outside as his wistful and longing gaze trails one of the snowflakes falling against the window pane. “Bien dormir, cher frère.” 

His eyes close as he fights his own unconsciousness, the recurring dream he has to face with the first snowfall.


	87. Hannibal's Memory Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sentence Prompt: “Do you remember me?”

  
“Do you remember me?”

Nigel’s characteristically low and husky voice rings against Hannibal’s eardrums as he rouses, acute prickling pain shooting through the side of his head. The last thing he recalls is simply a blur, as he had been unconscious even before his body hit the ground.

“No, I don’t, but you resemble my appearance. Where am I, who are you, what happened?”

 

* * *

 

 

Two days ago, in the late afternoon as they took an excursion to kill Hannibal’s particularly insolent patient, a killer on his own, who disguised as a canine in order to rip the victim’s flesh apart and ravenously ravage the entrails. Kills too obvious, gruesome, predictable. Used to be Hannibal’s patient from years ago, but he wanted Randall gone and done. However raw and animalistic his kill was and significantly different from his modus operandi, the twins didn’t appreciate his close proximity. Too many predators, too less free-range rude to kill.

Descending the staircase to the basement, the house is dead quiet as they only rely on the warmth radiating from the bodies and the flickering light of the bulb about to go out. Hannibal’s glock, technically Nigel’s backup gun’s light beams through the pitch-black entrance, possibly where Randall had made his contraptions. “Where the fuck is he? I fucking am gonna tear the bastard’s brain out.” Whispering to his brother as he turns to his back, Nigel senses some kind of a movement, a rustle behind the closed doors by the corridor. “Shh, quiet.” Hannibal’s baritone echoes slightly as he takes measured steps, merely about a feet away from his younger twin. He could feel the scalpel in his sleeve press against his skin.

Nigel’s sharp eyes catches the movement of the shade as he nears the end of the long and narrow stairs. Between the closed doors and them, the barrel of the glock and handgun poised against the middle of the metal door with chain wrapped around the rusted knob. Suddenly, the lightbulb goes out and thin shards of glass falls against their shoulders. Some nicking and cutting the skin around Nigel’s few days old stubble and Hannibal’s sharp cheek.

Out of the blue, Randall’s contraption, the sharp and long teeth of a cave bear surges towards Nigel, who is slightly thrown off, but maintains his aim and shoots few rounds of shots as the handgun kicks only slightly. Hannibal pushes Nigel off, forcefully against the metal railing and dives in for the heart, the sharp and cold metal blade finding the most vulnerable part of the body minus the neck, completely covered by the metal and bone structure.

Knocked out of breath, Nigel’s view blurs before his fierce hazel darts over the inky darkness of the aftermath. With only few scrapes, he takes an assuring shot, although he sees the glimmering blood reflecting his silhouette. The strong beam of light landing on Randall’s dead body, the blood still pouring out of his heart and head. Out of spite and sheer anger, the contraption knocks off to the side as he hears a sickening sound of the neckbone break under his heavy boots.

Feeling Hannibal’s hand against his ankle, Nigel’s sharp gaze darts back to his brother. “You okay? What the hell, why the fuck did you push me for, that fucking wacky motherfucker was already dead by the time…”

A shuddering breath after, he can make out Hannibal’s trembling form as one of the sharp teeth had pierced his side, between the ribcage and abdomen. Thankfully, lung had remained intact as Nigel doesn’t see any blood dribbling out from Hannibal’s mouth. The more grieving injury is his head, as it had been busted open by the rough surface of the wall between the metal bars and staircase. One of the pots had been shattered and the sheer impact of it had fractured Hannibal’s skull.

“N-Nigel, call the fucking ambulance.” A bloodied and trembling hand searching for his brother’s warmth, his already darkened vision fades into black from the corner of his eyes. “No, fuck no, you’re gonna stay the fuck awake.” Chucking his shirt off and wrapping around the protruding foreign object, Nigel tries his best to stop the oozing blood from escaping Hannibal’s collapsed body. His own hand shaking as his chest rattles with tears forming around the fat tears drop onto his twin’s face.

Hannibal is long gone as his hand is limp against Nigel’s death grip. His face blank and expression absent minded, his grip on the hilt of the gun tightens as he tugs it behind his jeans. The wound on his side isn’t severe as they stop the bleeding, clean the wound and wraps his torso around with few rounds of bandages to secure the wound, to be stitched and properly cared once he makes it to Johns Hopkins. The concave fracture on the skull is grim, as one of the small pieces had lodged inside the brain, too close to the cerebral cortex and the spinal cord. Too dangerous to prod inside and stir Hannibal’s complex and intricate mind.

 

* * *

 

 

“No, tell me you’re fucking lying. I’m your twin, can’t you fucking see that we resemble each other? And you’re in the goddamn hospital you used to work as an ER surgeon. Fucking shit, Hannibal.”

“Is that my name? Hannibal?”


	88. Twins' Fury Unleashed (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Multi-part drabble.

The broad shoulders enveloped by Nigel’s equally broad palms as Hannibal’s body tilts, plunging them into a descent down the bluff. The metallic tang of the blood still permeating the air around them as Nigel’s busted head on his right side emits sharp prickling pain as well as oozes dense crimson beads, a continuous drip painted and smeared across the side of his face, his ashen lock clinging onto the liquid, veiling the angular cheekbones. Hannibal’s abdomen aches as well, the gunshot wound still gaping as they had put forth an impressive fight with the serial killer so aptly called ‘The Great Red Dragon.’ A build of a bodybuilder, much taller and all hard muscle. Exceptional melee fighter with an aim of a gunman. The twins had been settled inside their second house by the bluff, savoring their gustatory pleasures. The liver from the plumber two nights ago and the heart from Hannibal’s previous medical practitioner, who both had rudely commented on their unusual and special relationship. It was one thing to comment on their incestuous relationship, but the name calling had crossed the limits. And after all, twins weren’t the most patient and forgiving pair of individuals.

 

It all began with Francis Dolarhyde shooting Hannibal in the abdomen as he had just poured a celebratory champagne into one of the flutes, Nigel already holding his own in his hand. Having taken a long sip of the sparkling pink liquid, he can make out the kind of a glock from the swooshing sound of the silencer. If Hannibal had a nose of a canine, he had a high auditory perception. A subcompact glock used by NY officers. The bullet lodges inside Hannibal’s side, immediately shattering the champagne bottle and the flute, sending the shards to scatter everywhere. After Hannibal collapses on the floor, Nigel’s fierce eyes make the silhouette of Francis’ black leather clad outline, returning the fire as it lands on the man’s bulging thigh. Even though the bullet had been lodged deep inside one of the major arteries, judging by the amount of blood escaping and soaking the man’s pants.

 

Pocket knife flicked open, as Francis rams against his slender frame, his six feet and toned figure looks small compared to the man who overpowers and entraps him from behind. The cold metal finding the side of Francis’ torso, it gets plucked out too quick to plunge deep into Nigel’s shoulder. A tearing low scream after a bite of his lower lip, more blood mingling and pooling beneath them as the alphas’ fight continues. Hannibal finally finds his footing as his emergency scalpel makes its way out under his button-down sleeves, like a second skin of his body. Just like Nigel’s handgun still tucked behind him. With a forceful strike along the bigger man’s groin as Nigel frees himself, the grueling 2 versus 1 fight continues outside. The evidence dribbled and smeared across the marbled floor as the glass pane breaks. Hannibal had dashed towards Francis soon after Nigel lashes out to slice Francis’ bicep, but the sheer strength sends the older twin to roll around and hit the rock just off the bluff.

 

There were many animosities and nemesis Nigel had to face in his profession, but never had he came across the man such as this. Although Francis had been the one who had been bleeding the most from his thigh and the stab wound not too long ago, he merely had grunted with all the wound. Nigel’s shoulder ached and radiated searing pain. He had a high tolerance to pain and so did Hannibal, but their breaths were rapidly quickening compared to Francis, who still stood straight and tall against the twins. Like two tigers bringing down a rhino or an elephant, the brothers charge and attack with everything at their disposal, utilizing their killer instincts, attacking Francis’ neck and legs to bring the Dragon down. Hannibal’s teeth rip across the man’s throat, while Nigel’s at it with his pocket knife, plucking the blade off from his shoulder with a strained grunt as more crimson paints his shirt, staining it with blood and sweat.

 

No matter how herculean the man is and seems undefeatable, Achilles has his Achilles’ gun. Thighs sliced open and the jugular draining Francis’ blood like a dam breaking open, the man finally kneels and collapses backwards, more black opal blood shines and glimmers underneath the moonlight. Breathlessly panting as the adrenaline quickly wears off, their blood continues to leave them as Hannibal stands from the ground, Francis’ blood and bits and scraps of flesh still littering across his chin. Muscles aching, his back bruised, the gunshot hurts like hell, but it’s nothing major, at least Hannibal thinks, it hasn’t hit any organs and blood loss isn’t severe. While it drains his energy all the same, he’s more worried about Nigel, whose posture is slouched more than usual, his typical fierce eyes once penetrated Francis’ glassy and liquid. Lips slack, the white shirt dyed with sanguine on one side, the blood making its way out through his mouth as he coughs some out.


	89. Twins’ Fury Unleashed (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a continuation.

“A conventional sense of love is too banal a word to describe how I feel about you, I’m relieved he didn’t stab at anywhere I’d not have liked. Fuck people’s bigotry and their ignorance.” An assuring hand on Nigel’s shoulder, Hannibal’s slack lips lock against his brother’s, who gropes eagerly as an arm pulls the older twin flush against him. Remembering Francis’ impudent remark about Hannibal having the ‘faggot twin,’ the fury towards the one who had idolized and wanted to ‘change’ Hannibal to become more great as he had been the last person to kill before his transformation.  

 

“The Dragon had been Francis’ higher self, but nothing stands a chance against us.” Controlling his breath as Hannibal proudly stands, his wound keeps fluttering and gaping as the bullet moves around, but only minute frown sends his forehead to crease. Arm winding across Nigel’s slender waist, his cheek presses against the bloodied shoulder of his younger twin, feeling the throbbing beat of lub-dub, quick against his eardrum. The concoction of blood, sweat and tears making horizontal lines across Nigel’s face, his chin digs against the side of Hannibal’s face. “Blood and breath are the only elements that fuel your radiance. Of course I adore, respect and think of you as my lifelong companion and friend who truly understand me as a whole, but you look so beautiful right now. Those eyes, glinting against the ray of light and your wounds, makes you to look like a wounded animal.” Ready to strike anytime and kill anyone who gets in his way. No matter how great the obstacle is. A hand placed on Hannibal’s gaping wound, the flutter of the skin and hot blood sleek against his calloused fingertips.   

 

Francis had wanted to kill Hannibal alone, to draw him after he had made his escape from his lifelong incarceration. Having helped Hannibal escape, as the evidence pointed straight to the twin who FBI had no clue of existing, they had just found out that he too, a Lecter, was capable of killing and doing despicable things, partaking in cannibalism and joining in creating those aesthetic pieces after each kill. Definitely more prone to be wrathful, succumbing to more of a bloodlust. Nigel doesn’t feel any remorse, although he feels the rising surge of his beating heart when he kills. The sleek and dense blood coating and warming his hands, even berserk rage wasn’t enough to replace bloodlust and relinquishing to carnal desires as each night after the kill lead to the most fevered lovemaking. Downright insatiable as to succumb to the copulatory pleasures.

 

“Let’s not forget the fucking flesh. Blood, flesh and breath, that’s us. The most fucking important word of all.” Muscles aching, Nigel’s eyes dart across Francis’ dead and ravaged body, still spilling more blood as he exsanguinates, giving everything he has to offer as the air permeates with thick coppery tang. The cold and crisp air whips across their pressed bodies as Hannibal closes more distance, whispering against Nigel’s ear as he briefly gazes down the bluff. A whirlpool forms in Nigel’s mind. Tempestuous and sweeping. What now? “There should be a spacious cave underneath the bluff, the bluff has eroded, we can break into the water together and swim off inside there, once we make it, the shore won’t be too far.”

 

Of course, always planning in advance and meticulous as ever. Nigel’s curved lips arch up in a complacence and as his weight shifts and leans completely against his older twin, they make the swift, long descent towards the murky and all-consuming ocean water beneath them. And then the minute it came, the adrenaline surge spikes up and something blows up in Nigel’s head and bashed in his heart. Something different of a sensation. More than the satisfaction that rolls off his body after specifically gruesome and pleasurable kill or the ardent lovemaking that follows right after.

 

Hannibal’s head digs against Nigel’s shoulder, bracing for the initial impact of the pitch-black water swirling in coils. A rush of water continuously swirling up the rocky terrain merely few feet away from them. Are they going to die? They would have to abandon the Lecter name for an indefinite time and lay low. Until the media quiets down and another threat of a serial killer takes over the attention. Hannibal had been the hot potato and now Nigel added to the picture, diverting the attention away from the general public will take a while.

 

 


	90. Twins' Fury Unleashed (3)

Plunging into the darkness of the void, Hannibal’s shoulders are the first to hit the water and it is Nigel who screams, the sound muffled by the water as his lips press tight. The force is like a meteor crashing against the celestial body, the impact of the collision is enough to send their aching bodies to break further. His left arm, wound around his brother’s back fractures as the other arm wraps around the head, the most vulnerable part of the organ. The gentle curve of the spine spreads the force and the rest of the fall is easy on their bodies. Like a bullet piercing through and tearing layers of metal sheets, their pressed forms diagonally sinks into the water, bubbles swarming towards the surface as the moonlight ripples and shimmers across the rippling waves. As Hannibal’s maroon orbs open under the water, the irises completely black as he makes out a bleary silhouette of Nigel’s figure, the prickling sensation that still tears through his side is present, but subsiding slowly as his body accepts the foreign object. They want to rest in peaceful oblivion as they sink into one, but they are only entitled to a few moments of languid relinquishing of their corporeality, sinking deeper and deeper as the depth of the sea consumes them.

 

Eyes tightly shut, the velocity makes their bodies to shoot down like an arrow and Nigel’s stabbed shoulder stings, the saltwater letting out more blood as it rises off as steam of the dark brew does. With furrowed forehead, their cheeks brush as Hannibal’s head swings like a pendulum, bouncing back as the tight grip against his brother loosens. Lungs beginning to burn, the thought flashes. It actually wouldn’t be so fucking bad if they weren’t feeling the lassitude of all. The muscle aching, the blood draining, the adrenaline wearing off and jets of water entering through their parted lips and nostrils. Nigel’s death grip tightens as he summons the last remaining strength from his legs, which starts to give up. Hannibal remains silent, controlling his breathing and letting his mind slip into somewhere else. This particular event is surely to make into his labyrinthine mind palace.

Propelling them off from spiralling deep into a void. fighting the high velocity of them sinking against the effort to surge upward to break the surface clashes as Nigel’s hair fans away from his face, moving swiftly and in the element like a jellyfish swimming towards the surface. Leg muscles moving in an autopilot, keeping themselves afloat is an arduous task. Hannibal’s strong legs continuing to kick and move in scissoring movement, his dark chestnut brown hair veils as he takes much needed exhale, supplying the lungs of oxygen. Both sides of darkness surrounding them as strong ripples rock them towards the rocky terrain just beneath the bluff.

 

Surrendering his body against the strong current of the waves, Nigel feels his back graze against the gravelled surface, his heavy eyelids darting across the celestial bodies. The blood washes away as all they feel is the dull sting radiating and heating their bodies up from the core. It’s intense as well as numbing. Entirely contradicting sensation, but the pain makes them to feel alive. They aren’t going to end up as floating and bloated corpses for gulls and other sea creatures to peck on.

 

“There, there’s the entrance. The cave is fairly spacious and we can rest for a bit before making our way to the shore.” Hannibal’s modulated, but raucous voice breaks the silence, only the harsh waves beating against the rough surface acting as white noise. Exerting all the force he has left, Hannibal pulls both of them off from the chilly ocean water as he drags Nigel’s permeable jeans and leather-clad body that goes limp against his hold.

 

Undefeated, standing tall, but feeling the energy drain, their legs tremble as their harsh breathless pants reverberate off of the uneven surface, Hannibal hopes that they don’t lose more blood than it is necessary and make it to the cabin near the shore in the woods, where he had extensively prepared all the necessary food and first-aid.

 

 


	91. Twins' Fury Unleashed (4)

“Nigel, Nigel?” Hannibal’s hands grip tightens against his brother’s as he sees his twin’s thick lashes flutter. Pinkish fluid along with a mix of saltwater and sweat continuing to pour and pool around the dip of the rock underneath the arched spine as Nigel leans against the edge of the rock. All the other bruises and small gashes along his torso adding onto the pain as dull throbbing pain shoots through his body. The dopamine released through the act of killing had long disappeared. “Can you get up? We have to get inside and avoid this biting wind. Come.” Hannibal’s own drenched body slightly trembling as his usually composed posture slouches, something like a crowl sends one corner of his lips upward and lifts his pronounced cheekbone. 

A hand reaching and helping Nigel up as Hannibal feels more blood escape from his gunshot wound, he holds the side with one hand while offering his younger twin a firm grip. A minute scowl sending the corner of his eyes to crease and furrow, his maroon eyes glint as they dilate, becoming like a set of black opal as he navigates through the spacious cave. Injured and fading, the long way across the damp and murky cavern that echoes slow and erratic drip of water from the ceiling. The rock formation something akin to colossal columns. At least it’s not as cold once they make deeper inside the cave, although the frigid winter is soon approaching, when frequent snowfalls and subzero temperatures would’ve sent the cavern to turn into icicles-full of frigid coldness. 

Close to the artery and jugular, Nigel had seemed to lose more blood than Hannibal did in a brief time, although now Hannibal’s gunshot wound gapes ever more than before. Fingers clasped against Nigel’s opposite shoulder where it’s not bleeding, Nigel’s broken arm winds around his brother’s waist with a strained grunt emitting from his slack mouth, clutching onto the waistband below the gunshot wound for a leverage. Using each other as the support, the echoing drops of the water and the salty breeze sweeps them as they slouch against one of the large bedrock that supports the whole cave. “Stay with me, don’t pass out yet.” 

Hannibal begins to inspect Nigel’s broken arm as careful and meticulous fingers of a surgeon traces along the livid bruise where the impact had broken the radius. Thankfully, ulna is still intact as Hannibal feels it. Chin pointing upward as his wet ashen locks fan out against the formation and then slides against Hannibal’s shoulder. The flesh looks deep purple with no strength behind it as his slender fingers lifelessly hangs off. “Can you move your calpals? Your elbow.” Gently propping Nigel’s hard skin as his soft fingertips graze against his twin’s slightly calloused ones, he watches Nigel’s face distorting with pain as the other twin’s teeth grinds, biting lower lip which had already been puffed. 

Taking his belt off around his trousers, Hannibal swings the leather around Nigel’s arm just under his elbow, securing it as he wraps the torn off piece of shirt. “I need some kind of splint I can use as a substitution. Hm..” Hannibal’s concentrated gaze darting over the corner of the cave, he grabs a broken off piece of wet wooden board, wider than ideal. With a hard smack on the sharp edge of the rock, it breaks off easily, thin enough to be used as a splintage. “Just hold on, only a few minutes.” His own eyes faltering its focus, he uses all of his mental focus into tightly wrapping the board around Nigel’s arm, tying the ends of the torn off shirt to complete it.

Heavy eyelids drooping and head slanting downward, Nigel leans against the slippery rock and Hannibal’s shoulder. “Your fucking gunshot.” Fingers squeezing hard against the drenched casual trousers, Nigel watches his brother tear off his button down to make a makeshift tourniquet to stop the ongoing bleeding that soaks through the shirt on his shoulder to be placed underneath the belt. As Hannibal inspects the broken arm, Nigel purses and bites his lower lip, furrowing his forehead as the veins on the side of it and neck tauts and throbs. As soon as Hannibal’s done, he watches the older twin’s form slump over in return. “You have prongs and all the fucking things in the cabin of yours. Until then I fucking don’t want you to lose any more fucking blood.” Hannibal’s torso is smeared and painted with both of their crimson, mixed with heavy layer of perspiration as the gunshot wound continues to flutter and let out small amount of blood as it trickles.


	92. Twins' Fury Unleashed (5)

The stress hormone quickly fading out of their system, Nigel’s quivering fingers find the buttons as his facial expression distorts, ripping off one side of his soiled shirt as the fabric bundles up in his fist. in attempt to shove it and stop the bleeding. That’s all in his imagination as he merely drifts off. His usual assertive voice losing his orotund force. “Rip this fucking thing off and tighten it around your fucking waist. You’d know it better.” His voice trails off as he succumbs to the overwhelming exhaustion that creeps over his bruised and battered body. Even Hannibal can make the marks where Francis’ hands had been, his larger and broader form overpowering his brother’s more slender frame. Not in Nigel’s life, he had been the domineering and towering one, although he wasn’t certainly the biggest around his profession. 

I don’t want you to perish in this fucking cave and rot. It is Nigel’s last trail of thought as his heavy eyelids close, a soft tremor carrying through as a little bit of warmth gets stripped off by the crisp and cool atmosphere of the cave.

The damp and inky interior isn’t an ideal place to be bleeding and bruised like this, but a few hours of rest before making their long way towards the cavern would be beneficial. Nodding as he watches his younger twin drift off, Hannibal checks the makeshift tourniquet once more around the shoulder as the belt presses against the stab wound. A hand rounding over the shoulder as he turns Nigel’s slouched form towards him, another hand pushes away the veiled ashen locks away from his brother’s angular features. Dormez bien, mon chere frere.

The pocket knife’s blade easily separating Nigel’s shirt from his tanned skin, Hannibal’s hand curves around the back of his brother’s head, letting him rest against his shoulder and the smooth curve of his bulging biceps. Nigel’s usual slow and strong breathing masked by a hoarse and breathy groans lifting his half-naked torso, his bent legs lifeless against Hannibal’s as their limbs become entangled. As soon as Hannibal’s nimble fingers wrap around his tight waist to tightly tie off the torn off shirt to stop the bleeding, the unperturbed fabric begins to take on pinkish tint as the residual blood seeps through the wet and cool surface of the shirt. With still frayed nerves keeping Hannibal at watch, his hand idly strokes the back of Nigel’s veiny and rather pale hand, feeling the pulse palpitate.

There had been so many colder nights when the twins had relied solely on their body heat to keep themselves warm during their adolescent days. Parisian winter had been especially cold with frigid snowstorms and there were days when they didn’t have a roof over their heads and cardboards, plastic wraps and long pieces of tarp the only means to contain their heat from having swept off as quickly as their body generated it. If they went through that when their bodies hadn’t been fully grown and wiry and slender, now in their prime years of their lives with strength to hold themselves off, this minute complication will most likely be more of a strengthening component of their relationship. Tightening and making it ardent than ever.

For some unknown time it passes, Hannibal’s glinting maroon eyes trace the faint moonlight entering through a small hole above his head and lighting Nigel’s rather serene face as the light diffuses across the angular planes. The rhythmic drop of the water from the rock formation akin to icicles and his brother’s slowing breath as he feels the pulse grow regular than it did before. His own eyes closing as he leans against his younger twin, his laced hand never letting go of hold as he succumbs to much needed rest.


	93. Twins' Fury Unleashed (6)

There are only few days out of a year when Nigel rouses before Hannibal does. Being a heavy sleeper and all and definitely not an early bird, with the amount of injury he had sustained, this hadn’t been his worst, but all the complications make it much more excruciating than it is. The first instinct is to pull at his injured arm. The pain is still coursing through his body as every muscle aches, especially his shoulder and his broken arm, emitting dull throb as the punctured and broken surface had swelled up. Hannibal is surprisingly quiet by his side, his own limbs limp and his chest rise and fall in a shallow manner. 

A habitually light sleeper, Hannibal’s heavy eyelids flutter open in a slit when he senses Nigel’s movement as his elbow nudges his biceps. A persistent groan lifting his chest weakly as his hand clutches onto the bundled fabric, soaked wet with his blood and sweat. A searing pain shoots up and surges through his abdomen as he adjusts his position, back pushing up against the rough surface. The sense of time had faded, but Hannibal figures that it is the early morning, the sky still taking a dark gray tone as the sun begins to push and cut through the pitch-black darkness. Their condition laid upon their eyes as they register more of the damage, Hannibal can make his pallid face through the pinkish water that pools by their legs. 

Nigel’s still bleeding wound against the saltwater, which had been considered a natural antiseptic for thousands of years, swells up and still bleeds. The beneficial effect is stripped away as the prolonged exposure makes the bleeding to persist. “We should get moving now. If the wounds are still bleeding like ours, saltwater will do more harm than good. And we need to get through more ocean water before we reach the shore.” Hannibal’s bit coarse and baritone voice, although a reassuring one, bounces off the jagged walls. 

Instead of a definitive answer, Nigel’s breathy groan echoes off the rocks as he gets up. Feeling slightly woozy, but determined to make it to the unknown destination that his brother had kept him off from knowing it, at least his legs aren’t buckling as much as it did short hours before. Feeling the tearing pain which feels like his body is splitting in half, Hannibal scowls as all the expression lines become visible around the corner of his eyes as well as the veins becoming pronounced on the side of his face. 

Their expression matches, as the sheer force of their will drives their movements. The walk towards the exit on the other side of the bluff where the break of dawn lets the stream of light across the circular opening is almost surreal. Feeling like they’re walking towards another chapter of their lives. Lecters abandoning their real names for now to take aliases, laying low until another newcomer surfaces above their names. At least the cabin had been stocked full to last for more than three months and their hunting skill didn’t lack either. 

Hannibal’s mind already making a mental list of things stocked there - dried food, fridge full of packed human organs and meat brought from the basement, fresh produce, the gardening supplies, an extensive first-aid kit to heal all of their wounds, Nigel’s handguns and a few new revolvers and rifles for hunting, their clothes vacuum packed underneath the bed. Taking a deep inhale as his abdomen contracts, Hannibal’s free hand clutches his side while the other winds around Nigel’s waist, mindful of his younger twin’s makeshift sling. Their silhouettes backdropping against the sun rising in the horizon, the long road towards the small drop against the shoreline about half a mile away feels longer than it is. The backdrop of the water dropping from the icicle formation of the rough interior of the cave reminds Nigel of Francis’ blood streaming down from the deep gash along the kneecap as he had sliced both legs off, the blood takes over his view and other senses as lingering traces of their blood and sweat intensifies with each strained movement.


	94. Twins' Fury Unleashed (7)

“We go into the water, I’ll use my arms, you’d have to use your legs to kick over. Hopefully the incoming tide will be strong enough for it to carry us over to the shore.” Looking over the edge where the cave ends, the blinding early morning sun scorches their skin. They can already feel the salt graze their sun-kissed flesh as heavy footsteps send few gravels off the ledge. Making their way down towards the jagged terrain with inflexible footing as the pressure of going downhill taking a toll on both of their legs as the resistance reverberates against their weakened muscles, arms around their waist tightens as their hips bump. 

“This fall should be definitely shorter and easier on our bodies than the deep plunge before.” Hannibal remarks, although he hadn’t tried the fall himself to test the impact of this particular plunge into the water, definitely not the one before that either. He thanks the god he doesn’t believe for making it with the perfect angle to break the fall without having shattered every bone on their bodies. 

All Nigel wants to do is to get the fuck away from this salty water that bogs down on his wet clothes. Glancing Hannibal’s wardrobe, the same could be said for his twin, the clinging coldness, the same coldness about to envelop them yet again. Hannibal’s mind wonders off to the cabin, the fireplace already stocked with firewood and all it needs is the flick of the match and already vacuum packed coq au vin stored in a terracotta pot that needs to sit on the stove for a while to heat up. 

The water is swirling and looks more suitable for a short dive than the murky and inky water before the long plunge that rendered their body to shatter and bruise. Gazing onto the horizon into the golden orange streaks painting across the vast sky, Hannibal shields a hand against the light and looks down. “Ready?” Nigel’s downward gaze flickers below the water, then up to Hannibal’s face. Leaning against his brother and locking his lips against Hannibal’s, his slinged arm press firmly against Hannibal’s naked torso. Tightening the fabric around his waist and bringing an arm around Nigel’s waist, Hannibal leans firmly and tilts his mouth, deepening the kiss as he eagerly gropes his twin’s lips. 

“The fucking dive.” Frantically breathing, Nigel’s husky groan rattles from his chest as he whispers against Hannibal’s lips. As much as succumbing to what both of them want more than ever now sounds enticing, it would be better to let their control go when they make it to the warmth of the cabin. The second plunge into the water could be easier than the first, but the sensation is all the same, as air knocks out from their lungs all the same. The impact of the jump is less as the water swarms and surges around them, the strong rippling wave sending their body towards the shore as they descend deeper. Watching the bubbles rise, the knot around Hannibal’s waist loosens and breaks free, the blood whirling and drawing thin ropes of continuous line as the sun reflects and glimmers across the surface as the light dances across the planes. Hannibal can feel the bullet move inside his still gaping wound, made worse by the force of the dive. 

As much as Nigel wants to tug off the sling and use his broken arm for the leverage, his legs kick off frantically, fighting the resistance as he feels Hannibal’s hands move to bring them to the surface. Feeling the surge of saltwater enter through his lungs, along with the trace of faint coppery tang of Hannibal’s blood. The swarm of bubbles clouding his view as Nigel tries his best to break into the surface, he senses Hannibal’s muscled form go weak against his firm hold. As soon as their head pushes out of the surface, the current carries them off to the shore, the chilled wind of the fall whipping across their damp hair as the coldness draws blood away from their extremities. “Don’t fucking fade away. Not until we make it to the goddamn shore.” With gritted teeth, Nigel’s legs blur as continuous scissoring movement continues beneath the water until he can find the footing to stand. As the water rolls off their lividly bruised skin, Hannibal’s head limply falls against his chest as chin tilts down. 

If Nigel hadn’t been injured, it wouldn’t be a problem carrying his broader twin, but his own strength is faltering. “Fuck, Hannibal. Stand the fuck up.” Concentrated face furrowing as his free arm strains and shudders against the sweeping gust, the shoreline deserted and empty. Not a living soul in their sight. the wood beyond the sandy terrain is almost inviting. With all the efforts and aching muscles as his legs buckle, Nigel feels the most of Hannibal’s weight land on him, warm blood spilling down his side and thighs as his jeans weigh down. Weighing the pros and cons of losing his jeans, the loss of heat sounds more appealing than letting the heavy denim burdensome against his enervated body.


	95. Nigel's Diary Entry

December 23rd, who the fuck cares about the time, all I know is it’s eve of Christmas eve.

I was too fucking stoked about surprising Hannibal with my gift. He had already gotten me a brand new leather jacket I had been laying my eyes on since the latest magazine of motorcycle apparels collection arrived few weeks ago. I had told him I didn’t buy anything for him just yet and although he had been trying to hide the disappointment in his face, I have seen and known him too much to let his vague sullen expression go. The truth was that my fucking smuggling business had been dawdling but when the container shipments have finally arrived from Bucharest to New York after making its halt in Amsterdam, I managed to garner more money than I’d ever had, more than a week’s profit from the NY club, a second establishment after the successful Bucharest one. A fucking half million dollars in my bank checking account. As Hannibal had been so fucking generous with everything, including getting me a new fucking Ducati and another one soon after, a Vyrus of the similar size, but in a different color and spec, I’d be nice and reciprocate something. 

Feigning two-day business trip to New York, which made Hannibal to be even more displeased, I had my adamant way as usual and left in a hurry. Having traveled to New York and stopping on Fifth Avenue, I usually fucking hate shopping but having witnessed my brother’s jaw dropping with the goddamn prada suit and oxfords, I had to get my fucking hands on them. Purchasing them didn’t even scratch my budget. Why the fuck not - go all the fucking way as I managed to barge in all those goddamn luxury designer boutique stores and managed to get myself something as well. Leather goods from Armani for me, a fucking expensive watch from Bulgari and overcoat from Burberry for Hannibal. It’s not like what Hannibal had done even matches what I’m splurging on, but what the hell, when I have fucking cabbage to do it, better to bask ourselves in the best of the best, because that’s what we deserve. That’s what my brohubs deserves. 

I haven’t texted my bro at all about when I’ll be arriving in Baltimore, but he had been awake and waiting for me with sleep heavy in his eyes. I’m a fucking nocturnal creature, so it didn’t matter much for me, but being a creature of habit and used to waking up relatively early because of his practice, I knew just how fucking exhausting Hannibal must have been. The amount of shopping bags I hauled were enough to surprise him, I think. As I said, I abhor shopping, but I managed it and they all fit him so goddamn well. By the tie all the clothes were strewn around the armchair and the foot of the bed, we both were drained. Making plans for tomorrow night, Hannibal had made sure to wine and dine me at the French restaurant in the tux that I wore at the wedding. He’d wear the same one, plus the oxfords I got for him, as well as the watch and the overcoat. Money and fucking fame isn’t everything, but the wedding band around my ring finger yet again confirms that I do indeed fucking love my only blood and flesh, companion, lover and husband. 

I fucking know how much you’ve done for me, even though I don’t fucking say it out aloud. Now that you’re sound asleep against my shoulder, then maybe I’ll say this out loud. What I’ve basked you with isn’t fucking enough. I know, it’s fucking meager compared to how good an older twin, a responsible and caring one you’ve been for me. If you weren’t there for me when I was having a rough time, until my fucking clubs were put on the map, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself all those time. You know, behind my fucking smug facade lies an insecure man who needs assurement. Fucking love you, brohubs, ‘til death do us fucking part.


	96. Hannibal Gets Injured

The fireplace already crackling with the fresh firewood burning as golden glow strips away the last clinging coldness from his body and lights his sharp and chiseled profile as he swaggers across the threshold of the living room, after taking care of his business as usual inside the club, Nigel had retreated early for the day. At least relatively early, as it had been still his normal work hours, but excusing himself with sickness as he felt a bit under the weather, there had been nothing like a warm apple cider spiked with bourbon that would surely chase away the oncoming cold. The drive itself back to the house had been equally brutal, as the oncoming snowstorm splattered slush-like lumps all across his broad back, wetting and permeating the layer of his thick bomber jacket. Having already taken a short and steaming shower and donning thick fleece pajama pants along with fluffy white robe with the sash open, with his iPad and a big mug full of spiked apple cider, the warm and comforting cinnamon smell permeates through the living room.

Slouched against his favorite lounge as his slender fingers swipe through the most recent collection of motorcycle apparels and luxury bag to gift Hannibal for the upcoming holiday, he eagerly awaits his brother’s arrival. Knowing he usually texted before pulling Bentley over on the driveway, his phone in the robe pocket remains silent still as his hazel orbs glance at the wall clock, which struck the hour. As fastidious his brother had been, this was out of whack.

Or, perhaps Hannibal was stopping at the organic grocery store he frequents or grabbing a bottle of whiskey bourbon or good dry red from the liquor store. That would take him at least quarter of an hour or half at the longest. The curtained window lighting up with the headlight beaming into the house, he knows his brother is rounding the corner of the driveway to park his car off the porch. A knowing smirk slightly thinning and tugging his lips as he lounges, he takes a long sip as the steam rises against his sinuses, helping to clear them so he could breath more easily. 

Knowing his twin’s stance and way of walking like the back of his hands, he knows when he hears something awkward and off and this instance is exactly the situation that he dreaded. Hannibal’s usually composed and long-strided sauntering as the glass door slides open from the kitchen, the movement seems slowed, dragging and effortful. Feigning uninterest as he puts the mug down to retrieve the bourbon from the liquor cabinet.

“What the fuck happened to you?” As Nigel sees his twin limping and dribbling blood from his chin and sharp cheekbone, his grip on the bottleneck tightens as he hurries over towards his twin. “Just.. A small accident in the office with a patient of mine.” A scawl taking over as his modulated voice slips, Hannibal’s deep-set maroon orbs look droopy with the visible knuckle mark on the temple. “Don’t fucking lie, it’s not like this comes with the territory of being a psychiatrist.” Wanting to prod into the nature of Hannibal’s injuries as his eyes dart over and registers all the distinctive ones, but deciding against vocalizing his question, his eyes dart over all the injuries and what it needs to be done. Hannibal would definitely know and some of the wounds looks already tended and treated, but he possibly might need a sponge bath the one on the right thigh, which is definitely the reason that the other is limping and big livid bruise on the arm visible beneath rolled up sleeve tells the completely different story.

“Okay, whatever the fuck happened, I need to get you on the couch and make sure you’re fucking okay - the motherfucker that did this, is that bastard dead?” Lips thinning as displeased scowl takes over his face, an arm winds around Hannibal’s waist as he props his broader built twin over. Merely nodding as Hannibal’s liquid eyes flutter with pain radiating from his pierced thigh, he doesn’t have to recheck, as the medical personnel have already assessed, the letter opener had pierced through his muscle and tore some part of it. The stitches were still intact, but blood still seeped through the bandages tightly wrapped around his muscled leg.

As soon as they situate themselves on the couch, Nigel’s other hand rounds around Hannibal’s shoulder, his eyes unblinking against the thick bead of blood coagulated on the corner of his brother’s lips. Tip of his tongue tasting the coppery tang as he locks his full lips against his twin as he leans, the slick crimson coats and tinges twins’ lips as the kiss intensifies, Hannibal’s injured arm weakly props against Nigel’s thigh as their chest touches. Nigel parts from the kiss first and without speaking, he tries to get up to go upstairs, hoping to retrieve stuff for the sponge bath like his twin had surely done for him multiple times when he had been hospitalized and in comatose.

“Don’t. Nigel. I’ll be okay, just stay with me please.” A hand grabbing Nigel’s wrist as Hannibal undoes his shirt buttons, Nigel holds his finger up and beckons the smoldering fireplace. His hazel orbs are equally smoldering with rage. Although he knows the man is dead, if he had been there, things would’ve been drastically different. Tending to the fireplace as he throws more wood inside to enflame the intense fire, the room warms up more as the glowing golden and orange hue takes over Nigel’s brooding face. The coruscant light flickers as he walks back towards the couch. His primeval nature taking over as his downward gaze lowers against Hannibal’s torso, which has been scattered with marks and more bruises across the hard muscles, he sighs in relief, knowing that it could’ve been more calamitous. The effulgent glow taking over as Nigel’s firm and calloused hand moves across Hannibal’s broad back, he tugs his older twin towards him, letting him rest against his shoulder. Bringing his entire arm to envelop him from the back as he feels Hannibal’s dark and slightly damp mocha hair tickle against his collarbones and neck, he eases further into the cushion and idly strokes his brother’s pectorals. “If you fucking say so, then I’m fucking okay as well.” His own head nodding with a furrowed brow as hazel hues grow filmy, his affectionate gaze transfixes against Hannibal’s maroon, which had been heavily set and half-lidded.

“I can’t fucking carry you upstairs, perhaps it’d be better for us to crash like we often had.” Vaguely remembering the instances when he had been hammered with his brother, their bodies entwined as it had been long time ago, even before he had woken up from the coma, the uncountable memories of their cramped twin-sized bed is unforgettable one as they had been etched along his brain. “I’m suggesting I stay under you this time.”


	97. Lounging in Italy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your OTP in a hammock, peacefully napping together in each other’s arms. Person A wakes up disoriented trying to snuggle B more, but ends up flipping the entire hammock over.

South of Italy, where the weather is warm and the sun is ever so vividly bright, the rippling cerulean blue surging against the jagged surface of the rocks as the beaming golden beam glimmers and dances across at the mercy of the waves. As their winter vacation rolled about, the decision was unanimous that Paris had been too cold to enjoy the golden glow and the lack of clothes, so the alternative had been traveling and residing the cabin they had owned by the seaside bluff for two weeks, lounging and enjoying the unperturbed tranquility. Then they’d visit Paris around Christmas time and spend more time filled with nostalgically fond memories of their adolescence. With the fridge and pantry stocked for the weeks of solitude and serenity and the house meticulously cleaned and prepped for light supper after their lounging, the weather had been impeccable for swimming in the outdoor pool and sunbathing.

With the shore washing by the waves upon their sight, Nigel had been quaffing whiskey with the last tap of ash from his shortened smoke as he watched Hannibal do freestyle laps inside the pool. Having already done multiple rounds himself, the beads still rolled off his speedo-clad sun-kissed skin as he puts the stub out, the last puff exhaled through his parted lips as his head tips back. With more guzzle as he downs the what’s left inside the bottle, probably a couple of inches, Nigel watches Hannibal rest against the edge of the pool by the metal bars. “Just how many fucking rounds did you do now?” Hands brushing away his luscious dark locks veiling his angular complexion, Hannibal’s hands sweep the side of his hair and smirks rather coyly. “Ah, perhaps five laps, maybe six.” Twenty-five meter pool, six laps. Considering his breathes hadn’t been throbbing that violently, at fifty years old, his lungs still had its vigor.

“Let’s do few more than I might need you for something else in its entirety.” Reciprocating the smirk, much more wider as his lips dip to plump his cheekbone, Nigel dives headfirst into the pool, barely making any splashes around as his narrow waist moves like a water snake. “Or, we could just fucking skip the former.” Hannibal merely watches his younger twin appear in front of him with a bit of water splattering across his neck and chest, some beads clinging on his chest fluff. “Well then, I want a real fucking kiss from you.” Fingers brushing Nigel’s locks away as maroon clashes against hazel like an electric current surging to complete the circuit, Hannibal’s lips clash against the younger twin’s as his face tilts, upper lip enveloping the other’s as tongue pushes deep inside. Lips still glued together as they hastily move up to the lounging beach chair, Nigel’s hand is quick to chuck off the older twin’s tight swimsuit, a navy-blue trunk, skin-tight just like his own.

Lips locked for what it seems like an eternity as their naked bodies entangle, they decide to christen the most recent purchase, Nigel’s suggestion of making their copulatory pleasures more entertaining. The strong netting and the swinging motion surely makes all the motions and maneuvering compelling. Easy living, leisuring, they had all the time in the world to immerse in the picturesque view out of the postcards.

As soon as more viscous liquid coats both of their pressed bodies, Nigel’s length surges inside Hannibal as he spurts, it is most often done simultaneously, so does their ardent orgasm. With the spectacular view of the late afternoon unfolded underneath them, a sporadic group of beachgoers are relishing on the velvety sand, the waves kissing over the glimmering shore stretching miles. “Fuck, that was different from all the others.” The suspended light bed had been a challenge to get it to work on their benefit, but they are experts at using their bodies, as graceful as a dancer, as well as two predators wanting to consume each other. Gentle yet tempestuous, fierce and affectionate.

Laying on a two-person hammock as they languish in the afterglow, their heart thundering against each other’s as Hannibal’s arm winds around Nigel’s sweaty back, fingers idly stroking the damp ends of ashen mane. “Yeah, it really was. Next time, we’ll just fucking do it on here from the start.” Knee pushing upward as Nigel grinds against his older twin, their lips lock once more as his hand strokes along the side of Hannibal’s face, propping himself on the opposite elbow as pleased hum slips out from both of them, low and baritone, husky and smoky.

Parting from the kiss and as Hannibal nuzzles into his twin’s damp ashen blond bangs, a hand continues to run the length of Nigel’s spine, just like he had done it hundreds of times. In their small twin-sized bed in one-bedroom apartment in Paris, in Baltimore where they resided now and even more so in the future. A subtle smile tilts his lips as Hannibal drifts off, the spent cum still clinging and emitting heavy musk. With a stretch of his arm towards the table where he had just sat about half an hour ago, Nigel’s fingers are quick to light the cigarette, savoring the first deep drag as he puffs the dense shroud of smoke upward as he turns to lay on his brother’s side. Wiping himself off briefly crosses his brain, but knowing after the light supper, they would be covered under the strokes of reds, purples and navies under the effulgent sunset as the sun kisses the horizon afar. More fervent hedonism to be partaken as any viand, served in most visually appealing way thanks to Hannibal, would infinitely fillip the lust for both of them.

Pressing firmly into Hannibal as Nigel hastily finishes the smoke, he puts the butt off against the ground and tosses it inside the empty whiskey bottle. Of course, most of the times he ends up missing the bottleneck. An arm draped over still wet and hard skin of the other, Nigel takes his brother’s other arm around his shoulder as he nuzzles into the crook, shifting his body a bit as the hammock slightly shakes. Hannibal stirs a bit, but feeling another warm body against his, the other arm circles around Nigel’s slender waist. Embracing from head to toe, slumber comes naturally.

Nigel didn’t know if Hannibal ever had slept on one, but for him, the sleep isn’t as deep nor refreshing on the shaky surface. Stirring as he rouses, he still finds Hannibal sound asleep. Judging by the angle of the shadow on the ground, Nigel figures out it had barely passed a half an hour, perhaps less. As he turns to his side to round his arm around Hannibal’s broader chest, both of their weight becomes unbalanced on the netting. The hammock immediately flips over and with the gravity at its work, Nigel spins almost a full circle and lands unceremoniously on his back with a heavy thud with a slapping sound, his still damp body sliding against the tiled floor. “Fucking shit!” Hannibal lands directly on top of his younger twin, face-to-face, maroon orbs doubled in size, but soon narrows. He thinks Nigel has done this intentionally.

“What a fucking wake-up call, Nigel. You could’ve wake me up more nicely.” His peripheral vision catches the hammock still swinging as the cords continues to unwind as the sheer force had the fabric to spin multiple times. More than 350 lbs of force.

“No! It was a fucking accident. I tried to get closer but the fucking thing spun around. Not my goddamn fault.” Rubbing his behind as his forehead and bridge of his nose creases in pain, Nigel’s eyes roll as he playfully shoves Hannibal away.

“Oh, no, you’re not pushing me away. I think it’s time for me to reciprocate and get you used to the hammock. Lay on your stomach. Let me massage that back and like you’ve said, do ‘something else.’” 


	98. The Eve of Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pumpkin Spice: messy hair, and warm mugs; our muses are sitting around, having the perfect lazy day...most of it a daze of stolen kisses, and the taste of pumpkin spice on each other's lips.

With the Christmas time rolled around, the twins were so exhausted with their respective work that they didn’t want to bother spending much money nor time to travel to Europe like they had been doing for the past few years. Not that they were never short on finances to do so, but all they wanted to do was to leisure around their house and relish the feel of each other’s skin. Something they haven’t been able to do for a while. Much longer than they intended. 

Nigel had just recently returned from a four-day business trip from the Netherlands and had been still getting used to jetlag and feeling a bit under the weather. Of course, while his brother had been gone, Hannibal’s sessions kept him busy, although he didn’t have any patients who required his utmost attention as no emergencies presented, his schedule had been completely booked with much needed break in the afternoon, but evening appointments stretched as late as nine, sometimes ten pm. When Nigel wasn’t gone for a business trip or two, he’d find an empty house greeting him as their schedule conflicted. For weeks, it had been that they only saw each other sleeping or not see each other at all, especially when Nigel had a ‘special business’ to take care of at the establishment. 

Time seemed to stretch thin as Hannibal’s maroon orbs open, as the late afternoon light basks his naked torso and Nigel’s frame pressed against his side, ashen locks fanned against his chiseled cheekbone. The fireplace crackles as the logs burn, small golden and orange flames kindling the wood as it had done with their passion and unrestricted lust. 

Bodies entwined as the incalescent glow envelops both, through their quickened breaths, muscles flexing and vehement amorousness locks every inch of their skin together. Luscious lips fervently nipping and tongues twisted against each other’s, tanned and sweat-drenched bodies collide in the zenith of their ecstasy, as feverish rutting and skin slapping continues. Their pressed bodies painting with viscous liquid, poignant and overpowering musk and amalgamation of heat waves from the fireplace and beaming rays of sunlight beating down from the windows surround them as their thundering heartbeats synch. 

A hand stroking his younger twin’s valley of spine, the sharp dip along the obliques just above the hips, Hannibal’s mind already sketches his muse into the next composition. He already has the outline etched into his brain, no, every inch of skin and how the muscles move has been installed like a pre-existing software. Savoring Nigel’s slow and strong breaths, a hint of snore as the other exhales, an arm heavily draped over Hannibal’s middle. 

As Hannibal takes a deep breath and looks at Nigel the last time as he gives an appreciative look, fingers brush over the silvery locks and tugs behind the ear before he slips off the bed. Kissing his slumbering younger twin on his cheek and pulling a robe around his broad physique before tightening the sash. Padding quietly as he descends the stairs, fingers card through his dark mocha locks as he gathers all the ingredients for spiked pumpkin spice. Cassoulet is already sitting inside the oven, simmering away until the meat becomes bone tender.

Soon, the aroma of strong coffee from the pot filling the entire kitchen, the fragrant concoction finishes as the mixture heats. Just how they like it, heavy on dark rum, more Kahlua to accentuate the strong coffee taste. 

With a shift of his hips, Nigel rouses and of course, immediately notices his brother gone. He can smell the strong aroma of pumpkin spice all the way to where he is. Wearing the rumpled bedhead as usual, he pulls his boxers, which had been carelessly thrown near the foot of the bed and pulls on a creased t-shirt, also wrinkled just like most of his clothes strewn across the room. 

His heavy footing echoing off towards the living room, Hannibal is already bringing two large mugs of ladled mixture of hot pumpkin spice with dollops of whipped cream on top, with a small spoon dunk inside each mug. 

“Smells like a fucking bonfire.” 

Living with Hannibal had its perks. It meant his olfactory sense would get developed and heightened, as Nigel could distinguish the notes of coffee and vanilla inside the mixture even from a distance. As Nigel sits on his favorite piece of furniture, slouched against the backrest with legs crossed in front of him, Hannibal places two mugs along with some sliced cheesecake he had gotten from one of his patients. Not too big on baked goods, but the gesture was appreciative enough.

“Doesn’t it? And of course, I have the cassoulet sitting simmering away in the oven. Our unspoken tradition for the Christmas time.”

A chuckle as Nigel takes a heap of cheesecake, a velvety stripe along with a bit of chocolate syrup smears against the corner of his mouth. Taking his own plate in front of him as Hannibal takes a careful bite, at least the fluffy and moist cake isn’t filled with mere saccharin taste of artificial sweetener or too much sugar as both hadn’t been too crazy for sweets. 

“You fucking are so sloppy, although I have to admit I like your unkempt hair.” 

Thumb brushing over Nigel’s full lips as Hannibal pushes the finger inside his brother’s mouth, Nigel mischievously sucks and bites all the way up to the web of the thumb, canine sinking into the veiny hand, not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to leave visible teeth marks. With another hand, Hannibal tugs Nigel’s rumpled hair and pulls his hand away from the younger twin’s vice grip. 

“I know what your fucking dirty mind is thinking, yes, I ‘might’ just do that after dinner.” 

Muttering with his mouth full, Nigel watches Hannibal’s typically controlled movement and dips a finger inside the top layer of the glazed cream and chocolate, smearing a stripe along the olive cheek. 

Pretending to not notice, but nostrils flaring as he takes an amused scoff, Hannibal takes a sip of the pumpkin spice. “I will withhold you from the succulent cassoulet if you don’t kiss all the mess you’ve made on my cheek.”

The things Hannibal go through for the sake of his brother. Of course, he himself lets his guards down and relinquish all of his veils he puts in front of the other people, including his patients, colleagues and acquaintances. 

Delighted, Nigel chuckles as a hand closes against the back of Hannibal’s neck, his tongue glides across the cream-painted stroke as it traces along the whole length, the final destination being his twin’s lips. 

“Mm, pumpkin, that specks of scraped vanilla from the pod, coffee liqueur and you. I fucking want… more of you.” 

Nigel’s sultry smoky voice slipping off as the mug slides against the coffee table, he pulls Hannibal against him further as he leans further into the lounge cushion. Lips gliding and nipping as Hannibal tastes the rich taste of mascarpone cheese and the cracker crust at the bottom, it is indeed the most perfect and luscious slurp of the flavors. Hand raking against the dark locks as Nigel’s hand draws a southward and serpentine motion, he can still feel the sticky mess they have left not too long ago. After all, the nap only had clocked at half an hour. 

Lips continuing to smack and glide along as Hannibal’s robe gets pushed off those broad shoulders, bundling around the tight waist above the sash, Hannibal’s hands are swift to untie the only hindrance stopping him from letting their insatiable lust unfold. As soon as his own hand disappears inside Nigel’s glorious bedhead, the timer on the oven rings. 

“The cassoulet needs tending.” 

With a nip of Hannibal’s lips with his canines, Nigel’s hand yanks the dip of the older twin’s spine. “Fucking cassoulet can wait, you and the fucking pumpkin spice first.” With a jerk of his hips, his fingers wind around the mug again to take a sip, the whipped cream drawing an O shape around his lips. 

“You know what to do.”


	99. Relentlessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A is oversleeping, so Person B is jumping on them, stealing their blanket and it leads into a hunt with yelling and cursing (Person A) and a lot of laughing (Person B). It ends with both of them on the floor, making out and being even more late.

The sun already peeking above the horizon as strong ray beats down against the spacious king-sized bed with such intensity, Anyone who hadn’t still roused yet most positively do now. Nigel wasn’t an average person though. A total nocturnal being and inebriated as he doesn’t remember how he managed to drag himself back to the house after quaffing three bottles of jack and coke yesterday before the prosperous club decided to take a week-long vacation after Christmas. He still had more hard partying to look forward to on eve, which is tomorrow and on Christmas. Being the owner of the club had meant that he had to be the one to take each and every toast from his employees.

Heavy dark circles adorning his tightly shut eyes as the blinding sun continues to bask Nigel’s broad back, Hannibal had been awake a long while ago as usual. After taking a thorough shower to wash away all the evidence of last night’s debauchery as he still feels a faint sensation of hangover clinging onto his body as well, as his sessions lasted for quite a while. A sensitive and neurotic patient tried to commit suicide and as she didn’t have any family or relatives to be called upon, as her psychiatrist and emergency contact for two solid years, he was summoned to assess her situation and stay until the patient regained consciousness, just few hours before Nigel’s hammered ass barely got home. He had to pick his younger twin up as he was just about to wind down and relax until another long day of work, Nigel had been leaning against the bike, puffs of smoke rising above a carelessly parked body of a Ducati just few blocks off their house. Hannibal himself had downed two bottles of good dry red prior to getting Nigel’s phone call, his slurry and husky voice rousing him from slipping into an oblivion of sleep.

Still dressed in his pajama pants, a white button-down shirt and a robe to top them all off, with the sash and apron tightened around his firm waist, he dries his hair off, leaving the luscious dark mocha bangs down for now. Relishing the view of his brother’s sleeping form, a hand runs against his broad shoulder, down the length of muscled arm before pecking him with a kiss on his cheek and hair, nose nuzzling into Nigel’s matted ashen locks, the onslaught of sweat, whiskey, heavy musk and faint scent of cigarette penetrates his nostrils as he scents his brother, only few of his ever growing favorite collection of scents amalgamated into one intoxicating smell, irreplaceable, unforgettable, etched inside his brain.

Watching the fresh undisturbed layer of snow piling up against the porch and cobblestones around the garden, all the vegetables already harvested and stocked as he prepares Nigel’s favorite breakfast, croque monsieur with bacon instead of ham and the only salad his younger twin with a palate of a kid will ever eat, caprese salad. Thick, juicy slices of heirloom tomatoes picked by him and smoked mozzarella purchased at the farmer’s market along with the pumpkin cider joins wide leaves of basil from his extensive herb garden by the spacious table already set aside, the sandwiches come together quick under his skilled hands, the bechamel sauce along with a generous heap of cheese melts under the broiler, along with thick sliced bacon with a hint of pepper Nigel likes.

The sizzling and bubbling sound and aroma of bacon and cheese permeating the whole kitchen and living room, Hannibal meticulously plates two plates each with some salad and sliced croque monsieur, with few mint leaves and torn parsley as a garnish. After pulling a carafe of freshly squeeze orange juice and pouring two cups and arranging all the plates and glass on the tray as Hannibal hears the strong gust beat against the sliding glass door, he ascends the stairs and pads towards the master suite again to find Nigel still slumbering away in the same exact position Hannibal had seen about an hour ago. Glancing at his watch confirms that he has about an hour before his first session with his patient begins and he usually makes it to his office a half an hour before, taking the time to meticulously prep his office for the long day of psychiatric work. Nigel sure had his own share of errands to run, needing to pick up few things from the wholesalers before he heads for yet another night of celebratory intemperance.

Gingerly putting the tray on the small table off to the side of the king-sized bed, Hannibal does something that his younger twin would definitely do without even thinking if their positions had been switched. Hands deeply pressed against Nigel’s narrow waist as Hannibal jumps over the mattress, pinning the younger twin down by his back and roughly tugging the duvet off his naked figure. Nigel abruptly wakes up with an ear-splitting barking. “Fucking shit, what the fuck!!” His glorious bedhead spread out on all sides, Nigel’s head buries deeper into the pillow, like a tree sinking its roots deep in the ground. Against the pillow as his spine sharply arches like a bridge, his erection, in return, presses and continues to grind against the bedsheet as he thrashes and grumbles in Romanian. “ _Mișcă-ți fundul greu naibii de pe sau te lovi cu piciorul fără sens_.” Most of his words barely intelligible and muffled by Hannibal’s hand, Nigel almost clamps his teeth down the web of Hannibal’s fingers between the thumb and index finger, an animal-like growl lifting his chest as his hand squeezes his older twin’s ass.

Hannibal lowers and presses his body firmly against Nigel, who continues to shift his hips and flail about like a fish out of the water, except Hannibal’s laughing makes him to be unguarded as Nigel pushes his older twin off the edge of the bed. Brows creased as Nigel lands flush against still laughing Hannibal, both hands pins the bottom figure down by the wrists, mussed hair brushing against Hannibal’s cheekbone as Nigel’s lips nip along the sharp angular curve of the jawline, all the way down to the crook. His length already hardening as the friction alone on the mattress had it stimulated, Nigel grinds and gyrates his hips as he lifts both of his arms over Hannibal’s head.

“I… Oh fuck…” Hannibal’s about to say what Nigel knows already, he has work. in exactly forty-five minutes. By the time, he should be already dressed, but he’s on a verge of losing all of his layers. Nigel’s hand is quick to unrobe Hannibal free and Hannibal doesn’t even realize his arms are free, until he registers Nigel’s naked body, the beaming light accenting his brother’s musculature. Hands squeezing the firm ass as they run upward to feel the oblique muscles bulging, the volley of the hips and feeling the dip of spine as his head falls backward, Hannibal is quick as his brother to push off the pajamas and boxers, leaving him soon naked. “What? Work? Fuck work, make up a fucking excuse.” With a mischievous glint in his eyes as Nigel chucks off all the layers bunched up around Hannibal’s back, his knees bend to give his brother some space to discard all the layers.

“N-Nigel, I have six appointments and one hospital visit.” Hannibal already knows he past the point of no return with his brother’s sensuous movements and his low and husky voice that always gets the work done. “So what? Use my work phone and tell… I know you can make up something.” With a reach of his arm on the his side of the nightstand, Nigel tosses his brother his work phone, which is a foreign-made one with an untraceable number. A flip phone solely for calls and texts, reserved for emergencies. Not such one as this, but it seems fit. “Go on.” His head still buried against Hannibal’s neck as his tongue licks a slow stripe southward towards the collarbones, Nigel mumbles. Hannibal’s shaky fingers dial the numbers and as all of them had been his long-time patients, it doesn’t break a sweat for him to recall the numbers, although his tanned body gets a film of sweat as his back arches along, under Nigel’s talented tongue and his grinding movement.

Under Nigel’s relentless mouth about to devour Hannibal whole as the younger twin parts his legs by a push of his knee, Hannibal manages to place all the calls with hitching and trembling breaths, reasoning his unexpected emergency as ‘family related.’ After all, Hannibal wasn’t lying through his teeth.


	100. Hot Under the Collar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble prompt - New York AU; Hannibal flirts with someone at the club to get Nigel hot under the collar. Nothing serious. He just wants you to get a bit rough with him.

With grueling final exams and evaluation at Mount Sinai all over and behind him, Hannibal had been pushed to his limits, arduously staying up as late as he could until Nigel found his little brother slumped over his desk in his study room, cheek firmly pressed against thick tome of a textbook full with medical terms and his meticulously detailed and realistic drawings of human musculature and anatomy. Heavy bags over his eyes and already lithe body more becoming leaner with lack of sleep and habitual proper eating, there were many days Nigel had to carry Hannibal to rest against him on the bed, even going above and beyond to wake him up and passing out after Hannibal had gone for lengthy hours of put his heart out to practice and study medical procedures. He even had few occasions when he had been treated by his brother at the hospital.

Knowing the day was Hannibal’s last day of exams, Nigel texts his brother before heading to his club on his most prized possession. It had been his off-day, but a bartender had been needed as one of his employee had gone to a funeral of his great-grandmother on this relatively quiet time of the year in the middle of the weekday.

[ Hannibal ] Apparently I have been called to work, get your ass asap when you’re done with all those fucking exams. Thank fuck, time to celebrate, let all of your fucking stress unwind.

After last three hours of fatiguing exam finally over with, Hannibal tosses all of his textbooks inside his big shoulder bag, crossed over his shoulder and mounts on his most recent purchase, a gift from Nigel, the same model as his brother’s but in white and black opposed to Nigel’s red and black. When he stops by the penthouse to change and drop all the stuff off then makes into the club, the watch says a quarter before midnight.

Whenever Nigel appeared behind the center bar or made his appearance, the drinks seemed to sell more rapidly than usual. Putting on the show for an eye candy as well as his youthful attire and recently dyed and cascading honey blonde hair flings across his angular feature as he occasionally flashes curling smirks. It widens as Nigel spots his brother clad in a crimson blazer and dark jeans, carding through his dark chocolate hair as he situates himself on one of the empty stools by the side of the counter.

With amused smirk still tugging his cheek, Nigel doesn’t lift his eyes from the chilled highball glass as he concocts a strongly spiked bloody mary, garnishing with a celery stalk and a lemon wedge. “About time you drag your fucking self down at the bar. I’ll make you something after this.” Hannibal pulls a cigarette, having fought off the craving all those hours before, lights it and takes a long puff, chin tilting back as he lets everything unwind. All the tenseness melting and stripping down.

“Gimme a smoke.” After setting the highball glass in front of a woman in late twenties and getting his tip and martini glasses cleared beside Hannibal’s seat, as Hannibal hands him an unlit cigarette, Nigel chuckles and takes the lit one dangling off Hannibal’s lips. “Can’t fucking smoke a whole goddamn thing while I’m working.” Flashing a small nicotine patch just above his tattoo under his long mane, and returning the smoke after taking a short drag, he pulls out bottle each of creme de cassis and champagne, concocting a Kir Royale. “Celebratory drink first, shall we? Let’s start with something light.” Two glasses quickly filling the flutes, Nigel hands his brother one as he tips it to guzzle down half the content. “Cheers.”

“Thanks.” Hannibal’s face lightens up and slightly fades when Nigel’s intense hazel distracts towards another customer yelling out an order. With the semester’s work done with and before the spring semester starts, which will be about three weeks from now, he’d have to go back to Baltimore and move all of his stuff from Nigel’s penthouse. Not wanting to break the subject just now, he watches Nigel make a heavy batch of iced mojito, heavy on the lime juice and crushed mint leaves. “Here ya go, enjoy. And for you, I’ll make what I fiddled with recently. White Russian. I always prefer black, but it tastes same as you do.” His boots tapping against the bottom of the center counter bar, Nigel’s lips lopsidedly tilt before turning his attention to his brother again, stirring the cream and coffee liqueur together.

A slightly sleepy, but twinkling as the fluorescent light from above accentuates the light amber specks in his maroon eyes, Hannibal grins into the short glass as the latte colored sweet cocktail masks out the strong alcohol taste of vodka. His beatific facade loosening up along with each sip, he slumps against the bar, hearing the growl in his stomach. Always finding queasy before important tests, although he had been confident with his ability to excel at every exam he took, he just realizes that he hadn’t eaten any substantial meal since late brunch just before heating to the hospital. “I think I’ll order a cheeseburger.” Hannibal shouts back to Nigel, who had been turned to his back, retrieving a bottle of rum. “And fries, I’ll tell the staff to top it all with a fucking layer of cheese, I want you fattened up a little.”

Pulling all the trick in his sleeves to please the customers and get the chatter going, Nigel’s on his feet while Hannibal waits for his food, tipping the glass as another man, a slightly order, possibly in his early thirties sit beside him. A sly smirk tugging his feature as he leans towards the man, Nigel’s busy as a beaver as he holds the rum bottle at the base of the neck, throws it a couple inches in the air and catches it at the waist to impress the customers.

Hannibal finds out that the man sitting next to him, Michael, has more common with him than he had ever expected. Dressed more like Nigel, but a bit stout looking, the man had just finished his doctorate and recently opened his own private clinic near Tribeca area. The vodka quickly affecting him as the deadpan man intriguingly listens to Hannibal having just completed his internship at Mount Sinai, Hannibal’s leg more than tantalizingly brushes over Michael’s. Looking up through the lashes and occasionally their eyes catching, his spine straightens a bit, his hair flipping as he downs the rest of the White Russian.

Nigel’s vacant expression twitches a bit as his eyes unwaver against Hannibal’s tiny nudge against Michael’s side, he is about to crack almost quarter full vodka bottle against the ledge of the bar and shove the jagged edge of the bottle towards the vulnerable jugular. Instead, with a bit of teeth clenched, Nigel puts up his seething, feigned smile and approaches Michael. “What can I get for you there?”

“I was going to get long island iced tea, but whatever Hannibal, this young man is drinking looks good. I’ll have that.” The man’s words kindling his anger even further, the grip around the bottleneck tightens even further as nothing seems to quell the scorching heat rising off from his core. A hubristic smile tugging Hannibal’s lips as Michael returns the tease of a smile, Nigel carelessly pours the drink in front of the short glass and puts an over-brimming glass on the coaster with more force than necessary.

An insidious and minatory gaze transfixed against Michael, Nigel rounds the corner of the counter to pull his brother against the corner of the bar, just off where the staff only signed door is. His slender finger not letting to of Hannibal’s wrist, his biceps bulge under his leather jacket. Chucking it off and tossing it on the bar stool right next to him, Nigel’s turbulent hazel meets Hannibal’s tremulous one, not timid nor nervous, but remembering what happened the day he met Nigel after about twenty years of being apart from each other, the unpleasant thought looms over briefly before he crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Jaw clenched and eyes squinted, Nigel’s slightly flushed face looks menacingly down at his brother. “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Hazel orbs flashing towards the vodka bottle still clutched in a death grip, Nigel guzzles down the rest of the bottle, the burning fire within him soars like a dragon breathing a column of fire out its mouth as he feels the intense burn pass through the throat. “Nothing.” Arching his neck as Hannibal licks his lips, slightly glassy orbs focus on Nigel’s tightened lips and clean-shaven jaw. “Come on, fucking lighten up, I was just being flirtatious with the guy, it’s not like - “ A hand on Hannibal’s waist, body positioned and pressed flush against his brother’s as Nigel dramatically turns and locks his lips firmly against his younger brother, their tangled limbs peeking out of the pitch-black shadow as few customers make out what is going on by the door, including Michael. 

Another hand strokes underneath the blazer, feeling damp fabric underneath as it travels southward to Hannibal’s hip, Nigel’s calloused and broad hand sweeps across the stripe of skin under the button down shirt. Staring down and roughly pinning Hannibal against the wall as the tempestuous and tongue-on-tongue kiss continues, a hand that had been around Hannibal’s lean waist winds around his neck and fingertips dig and scratch against his brother’s scalp as he grabs those luscious locks by a fistful. “One more of that fucking nonsense and I’m gonna be bending you over the fucking counter to show everyone who you belong to.”

Strong, unblinking and focused hazel penetrating Hannibal for a while before Nigel parts, he squeezes a hand around Hannibal’s neck, just below his adam’s apple to enunciate his point. As if nothing had happened, Nigel resumes making more drinks and clearing all the empty glasses and disgruntled, Michael leaves without ever touching the over-brimming drink. Hannibal’s heart gets an overwhelming work as a rather calm and strong heartbeat suddenly accelerated to thundering roar of Nigel’s bike as he remembers his older brother’s daredevil spirit rise upon him. Legs buckling as a hand cards through his mussed up locks, his shoulders lurch as he stills, head already spinning as the hard-edged walls with stripes of paint becomes a palpitating planes. It could be effects of alcohol, but more than that, it had been all Nigel. Hannibal was sure Nigel felt much like a sweltering heatwave, ready to burn him whole.

Soon, the bartender who is supposed to take over after his shift arrives and before Nigel joins Hannibal, who still looked out of sorts, by his side. His tongue swipes behind his teeth to savor the lingering taste of sweet cream and coffee liqueur, behind all the alcohol, especially to relish Hannibal’s fresh scent, a hint of Japanese blossom and lavender. “Guzzle that down, then I’m taking you home.”


	101. Nigel's Business Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10 (or less) Places Nigel would rather be now.  
> His IC monologue (sort of).

In fucking Netherlands, gloved hands clutching the hoodie of way too short bomber jacket and pulling the hood over my head, slushy snow begins to pile up as I walk back to my hotel from the club I had the meeting in. December 23rd, about to pick up my duffel bag and head back home.

Of course, the first place I want to be is the house in Baltimore. It would be still barren and empty, the frigid chilled air filling the room. I hope the heavy musk and our sweat still clings onto the duvet and bedsheets. As much as cassoulet and vin chaud became redundant and our staple for holiday, especially for Christmas feast, it’s all I can fucking ask for. Why the fuck do you have to be back a day after when I get back? It would’ve been nice if we ever met back in the Baltimore-Washington Int’ and drive back together.

If the weather isn’t so godawful and it wasn’t the eve of the eve, I would’ve loved to stop by Bucharest and pick up a bottle of Țuică made from plum, the making process should have been just completed before Christmas and if we could leave this traditional spirit in an oak barrel to age. Perhaps I should ask one of my former associates to send us a bottle or two.

I always end up having to layover at either London Heathrow or Frankfurt airport, so I’ll probably drink a glass of beer or two, but man, I do fucking miss that bar I used to go to just outskirts of Bucharest I found by an accident. Never have I fucking expected to find a jewel in the midst of a rundown alleyway full of shoddy joints, but damn, they had some amazing meatball sliders, right mix of pork and beef, heavy on cayenne pepper and white pepper. charred paprika and everything.

Ah, fucking great, the snowing has subsided, but instead, a lightstorm is making the gray sky all effervescent. Somehow that lightening shape reminds me of the big tree I used to play with my brother near Eiffel Tower. Too many fucking memories of usual bantering and mischievous nudging and pushing. Doing all the fucking adolescents do around that age, making snow angels, all covered and drenched in white fluffy snow and brushing each other off, keeping warm against each other’s body heat, all the fucking good times.

On a damn taxi to the Schiphol Amsterdam airport now, as more slushy snow beats down heavily beside where I’m sitting. Riding the taxi around always reminds me of that last trip to Paris. I believe it was around this time of the year, on eve before Christmas, that extravagant restaurant still currently in business as it had been when we were young. We couldn’t afford anything on the menu then, but now we could literally order all the fucking things on their menu and don’t even scratch our bank account balances. Fuck, I need a damn smoke and the taxi driver is a non-smoker, which is fucking weird.

Shit, in the airport now and my flight to London, go figure, has been delayed an hour. And I rather feel starved, so why the fuck not stop at Starbucks, because that’s the only thing it’s fucking open now. At least the coffee is strong and bitter and their sandwich… Damn, I miss that croque monsieur with thick sliced smoked bacon. I fucking hate hate ham and it’s the only kind of sandwich they have. Actually, the only edible one out of all the others. Nothing beats what you make, but if there is one place, then it’s this little joint near Montmartre that has a fucking killer croque madame. Again, that fucking ham. I don’t think French are very fond of replacing anything ham with bacon, but still, wholly enjoyable.

Ugh, this fucking focaccia is like chewing on brick. I’m tossing the top part in the damn trash. Who would’ve ever thought I’d miss Florence, but that damn panini, one with the roasted peppers and eggplants, with spicy arrabbiata sauce, basil and heap of freshly sliced mozzarella melted right on top. Damn, I’d ravenously devour that over this fucking expensive piece of brick and that sandwich, I just had bought it on some random street on the way to the meeting with prospective clients on a rundown cafe off the beaten path. 

It’s just five minutes before the boarding time and needed a quick smoking fix, freezing my fucking ass off as I take a much needed long puff. Shit, I should’ve taken out my gloves again, but at least my jeans aren’t… Fuck. Now they’re wet. If it hadn’t been so fucking antarctic cold, I would’ve caught up with the damn car and punched the damn bastard’s face for splattering muddy snow all over my fucking jeans. I’ll just change once I get inside the damn plane. Where is my damn handgun when I need it!

In London now after few hours of flight. Thank fuck at least the weather in here isn’t so goddamn grim and gray like it usually is over here. And it’s definitely much more crowded and hectic, people swarming inside duty free shops like always. I’m most definitely sure they’re buying late holiday gifts for families and all the loved ones. Stroopwafels? I can’t even fucking pronounce it correctly, but they’re like gooey biscuits and actually not half bad. I’ve got tons of them from Amsterdam and for you, a fucking huge chunk of gouda and had to spend a fucking fortune on diamonds, unisex, the design was simple enough for them to finish it by the duration of my stay.

Ah, the first class, that’s me. Just in time after my smoke break. Of course, I haven’t forgotten to get a bottle of gin we would sure to empty out once I get back and your ass gets home on Christmas eve. And I still feel a bit out of it with more of that I drank the other night, so after taking a sip of whiskey from the trusty flask, I’ll just pass out after eating the horrible airplane food. Hopefully it’ll be just what I need to fill my goddamn stomach tho. 

On my seat, already thinking about my favorite place to be around and IN. Fuck, my fucking body never lies when it comes to unfolding my imagination to roam free. The flight attendant gives me a complimentary champagne and damn, she is onto me like a fucking bee on the flower petals. i just tell her to leave the fucking bottle and flash my ring finger. Yes, I already have mine on. 

See you roughly in eighteen hours.


	102. A Sleepless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whisper verse; Nigel sets something on fire.

A year after waking up from the coma, the same duration Nigel had been in the incapacitated state, but as he adjusted to the new life outside where he had considered his hometown had been nothing short of dramatic. Having lost his memory about the burning desire he had with Gabriella, all of the memories flooded like a tsunami sweeping everything down its path along the shoreline. When the nurse gave him his bloodied shoulder bag, the contents inside the well-worn leather didn’t have any significant means, until his memory recovered in fragmented parts.

Since living and sleeping with Hannibal, his dreams were filled with snippets of memories in Bucharest, those chunks of years lost before he committed suicide by cop. Although having grown estranged and not talked to his older twin for the past couple of years, they still exchanged mundane texts about how each other had been doing and all the pleasantries like that. He always believed that he projected the undying love towards Gabi, as he had been rendered bedridden almost half a year when he had been gutted like a fish. It might have been the assailant’s intention that none of the major arteries had been severed and just enough blood content had been lost in order to make him suffer the most.

Without any close friends to turn to, he was way too stubborn and adamant to show him his vulnerable side. Having to drag his body to stitch himself just barely enough to make it home, his drooping eyelids and slouched figure, sickly pallid and legs buckling as blood streams from his left side to paint his whereabouts, still, he doesn’t remember much about the first few months. Unquenchable fire sweeping through his body as his body fights with elements and infections, dank and scorching Romanian summer doesn’t help at all in aiding him to recover. Delivery boxes and bone-dry whiskey bottles strewn around his cramped bedroom, his broad figure on too small twin-sized bed, filled with stench of caked blood, which emits rusty tang that would make anyone to be repulsed and vertiginous. Covered in his own sweat and rumpled sheets drenched in his own blood, routine movements such as shimming off his clothes and going to the restroom knocks his breaths off, as his crudely stitched side gapes and flutters. Stifling his groans and screams when the stitches stretch, the distorted edges shifting along with the movement of his muscles, he endures the excruciating pain without any morphine, until it becomes too unbearable and he feels like he’s on the verge of passing out from unfathomable discomfort and pain.

With Hannibal soundly asleep against his side, Nigel couldn’t fall asleep as the recurring image of Gabi’s unpardonable act, leaving him to have a change of heart as he realized his love had been unrequited. He was exceptionally good at reading people’s eyes. Since adolescent years, working on the streets and docks, carrying off his schemes and having seen more than his peers at the blossoming age helped him to read people’s attitude from their expression. Having a psychiatrist brother had its perks, too, but mostly, his skills were inveterately learned as he worked on streets, then moving onto ascending the hierarchy of positions.

Carefully sliding off from Hannibal’s arms, winded around his lean waist, Nigel drapes a robe, which had been carelessly discarded against the foot of the bed. Sash tightly wrapped around his waist as a hand snatches the bag he hadn’t dared to touch nor look into it.

Padding down the stairs and walking outside with a smoke dangling in his lips, he throws the bag over on the porch with the zipper open. Nothing grabs his attention as his hand pulls blood-stained shirt, his old revolver with half-empty cartridge, also smeared with blood, he could see his fingerprint still imprinted on the cold metal. Then, a book catches his sight as mesmerized gaze lands on the black leather book, well-worn and covered with a sour note of coke and his fingerprints, a sniff confirms the faint scent of smoke, blood and gunpowder residue, along with unidentifiable sticky fluid, most likely his own cum.

Flipping through his usual loose and sloppily written scrawls, mostly sums of managing his club and meeting schedules filling the sections, he finds a stapled, yellowed receipt of gold-capped and inscribed handgun, the very one he had gifted Gabi. And another one of the letter which he didn’t send to Hannibal before he committed the deed that would eventually unite them together.

Fingers tightening around the edge of the creased paper, his lips thin around the cigarette as he steps inside the kitchen. Without any thinking, he lights the note up in engulfing flame, unintentional to even unfold the letter and reading it. If he remembers, so be it, but he is positively sure he won’t, as he had been more than content to live the life he thought was long perished when he faced the blast of debilitating and incapacitating, blinding and inescapable projectile of a bullet.

Dropping the burning note inside the sink as the ever growing flame consumes some part of his past into dust, his piercing and narrowed gaze, lips tightly pursed as he takes the last long drag as his head tips. So immersed and mesmerized by the sight, Nigel doesn’t notice Hannibal standing right behind him, robe tightened around his waist. “I didn’t know you’d be downstairs.” Heavy sleep still in his voice as his quietly modulated voice emits against Nigel’s ear, he startles a bit, a gravelly gasp lifting his chest. “Fucking shit, I didn’t even fucking hear you enter.”

Judging by the looks of Nigel’s fiery gaze behind his eyes and his still startled expression, along with a slight yawn that parts his brother’s lips as the short stub drops along with the note, almost burnt all as the soot disappears along with the cascading water of the faucet. Placing his chin against Nigel’s shoulder as an arm winds around his brother’s lean waist, Hannibal inhales the lingering scent of cigarette and musk, the crisp air of the snowy night still among them as the frigid wind seeps through the slitted open sliding door. “Come to bed, whatever it is, whether you want to talk about it or not, I need you by my side to sleep.” Nuzzling against the sharp and chiseled curve of Nigel’s neck muscle just below the tattoo, Hannibal hums and gently squeezes his brother’s well-defined glute medius.

“Couldn’t fucking sleep, I keep having nightmares.” Half-honest, but omitting the unnecessary details as Nigel shifts, making sure that everything is burnt to nothing distinguishable. Taking a long sigh as his hand overlaps the older twin’s, his lips brush over Hannibal’s sharp jawline, then locks them into a languid kiss. Heads tilting and the sweeping breeze enveloping them as their unclothed flesh firmly press against each other’s, Nigel slowly pushes his brother against the counter, slender fingers undoing the sash around the waist, revealing bare skin. Hannibal’s tongue tangles against his younger twin’s, fingers caressing over ashen locks just above the ear. Eyes fluttered close and smiling into the lips as Nigel slowly parts, their saliva dribbling as the wet and sloppy kiss having continued for a while. Past is a past, no good comes from dwelling on the past. “Yeah, let’s.”


	103. One Particularly Cold Morning

Falling back to sleep had required more effort than usual, but after getting heated up and Hannibal insisting to make him feel all better, Nigel had been knocked out soon after his thundering heartbeat subsided. Cocooned around Hannibal’s warmth and duvet just over their chests, Nigel’s slow and strong breaths makes his chest to rise and fall rhythmically. Already having been roused before the sunrise as usual, Hannibal’s broader frame completely wraps around the younger twin’s still lithe frame, arms wind around Nigel’s chest as fingers entwine. A gentle whiff against Nigel’s crook ensures Hannibal to inhale the lingering scent of worn-out leather, a bit of smoky fire and hint of cigarette against the hard and slightly dry skin.

As the bright golden glow peeks from the horizon as blinding ray of light beats against the windows, the snow which turned frozen solid reflects all the luminescence, the air chilling to the bone, deceptive as the windless days continue. Hannibal only gets up to tend to the smoldering fireplace inside their master suite, the logs kindling the flames to erupt again as the warm yellows and oranges ablaze the room’s earthy tones. Watching the resplendent ember crackles, Hannibal rejoins his slumbering brother on the bed. With cassoulet already warming in the oven and their usual spiked vin chaud almost effortless to make, all Hannibal wants to do is to spend the languid day on the bed all day with Nigel, exploring each other’s body like they haven’t done it before; although they had done it so many innumerable times. With both of their respective work, Hannibal with a few domestic conferences sending him days out of the city, even to West Coast for a lengthy trip. Nigel had been dispatched to major European cities for weeks at times, meeting with patrons, prospective clients and other long-time partners who he had worked with when he had been still living in Bucharest.

Jet-lag and his recurring nightmares making him to stay up days at times, exhausted, when Nigel finally falls asleep, this particular slumber had been dreamless. Wearing his usual bedhead as thick and luscious ashen locks fan out against the pillow, Hannibal hums contentedly as arm tightens around his twin’s shoulder. He catches a thin vapor trailing in the sky as the airplane passes over in the distance. Shimming closer to Nigel as a teasing hand glides towards the morning glory, still feeling dense spent cum glisten against his fingertips. He can still feel Nigel’s own having spilled all underneath the dip of his weight, sticky and almost dry. With a guttural groan, Nigel’s body shifts as forehead creases, a long sigh expands his chest as he settles, falling right back to sleep as he faces Hannibal. 

Dark bangs draping over his forehead as Hannibal’s stubbled jaw gently brushes against Nigel’s, Hannibal’s fingers brush off ashen locks veiling the forehead and almost imperceptible scar situated on the dead center. The hair on the back having been entirely shaved before, the back of Nigel’s hair is still choppy, although the thick strands have grown long enough to be needing a haircut. Recalling countless nights of him whispering sweet words and the memories of their adolescence into Nigel’s ears, Hannibal still vividly remembers the day he had been called from Bucharest Emergency Hospital, getting the devastating news and the day he saw Nigel first time in almost thirty years, still unconscious and sickly pallid. Hooked into IV tubes and wires, bursting into sob as he held onto his brother, reading the suicide note and a faint chuckle rattled as he looked at the charm, professing his unending love. The gold chain and charm still around Nigel’s neck as Hannibal feels it against his collarbones.

Maroon eyes growing liquid as his orbs trail down the angular features of Nigel’s face, Hannibal’s fingertip ghosts over the sharply defined curve of the lower face, feeling the strong pulse against the artery. Feeling Nigel stir as eyelashes flutter and eyelids squeeze tight against the light beating down upon his face, Hannibal pretends to be asleep, staying still and quiet. Slight bags under his eyes as Nigel’s forehead buries deep against Hannibal’s broad chest, his twin’s deep exhales tickle against his silvery fluff. As the sun completely rises and the gust begins to pick up, snow begins to turn to small pieces of ice, sleet falling down as the room warms even further with their limbs entangled.

“Mm, Hannibal, you awake?” Low and rough, Nigel stifles a yawn against Hannibal’s shoulder as his back arches, stretching himself as an arm moves to brush over Hannibal’s side. “Have been for quite a while.” Stroking a hand under Nigel’s jaw, Hannibal pecks a series of soft kisses before lowly humming into the deep kiss, duvet rustling against their naked forms tangle, Hannibal entraps his brother underneath him as a knee pushes between the twin’s legs.

Deep sound reverberating against the back of his throat as Nigel reciprocates the kiss, his forehead creases in discomfort, his muscles feeling much more tense than usual. Since waking up from the coma, these persistent tenseness of muscles, stretched tight as a cord, would accompany him like the erratic spasm and fluttering of his healed gash on the left side. Not missing the sudden change in his brother’s expression, genuinely concerned, Hannibal places a hand over Nigel’s forehead. “You don’t feel hot, something making you uncomfortable?” Nigel’s shoulders draw out as his words drawl. “My muscles, they’re so fucking tense.”

Getting off his brother and giving him some room to maneuver, Hannibal’s hand runs against Nigel’s side, against the gentle curve of the hips. “Lay on your stomach with arms stretched sideways.” When Nigel shifts to turn and follows his instruction, Hannibal straddles his twin down by his narrow hips and broad hands and firm fingertips begin to work the pressure points, putting enough of his weight to slowly move his hands southward. Satisfied as irregular groans exhale from him, Nigel’s face turns and catches glimpses of the fireplace behind Hannibal’s statuesque figure, looking almost like a bronze sculpture or a figure out from a Baroque painting.

“Can we just stay on the fucking bed all day?” Turning his body sideways as Hannibal’s hands move against his lean waist, Nigel lays back on the bed as Hannibal does the same, but on his back. As if magnetized, both men press against each other as heads tilt, pecking soft kisses and nipping the bottom lips as plump lips continue to smack and drift, Hannibal’s firm hands continue to massage Nigel’s back, along the volley of spine where he knows each vertebrae would be aching. Although not specialized in neurology, it was a common sense, after all that the brain damage Nigel had sustained would still affect his spinal cord. “I want to feed you and fatten you up a bit soon, but I believe we could do that. And I had intended that to happen as I enjoy having you in my arms.” A smirk, as his growing interest stiffens up, as does Nigel’s, as Hannibal feels it between his legs, he turns Nigel on his back and straddles him again as he grabs the hardened length. “I suggest riding this fucking cock while I complete massaging your arms, chest and abdominal muscles, how’s that for the morning wake-up?”


	104. Nigel's 3am Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Set an alarm clock at 3am. Write Nigel’s first thought when he gets up.

A serene, much too serene for Nigel’s liking, his sleep is fitful at its best. Layover at London took a turn for the worse as the heavy snowstorm had delayed his flight back to Baltimore-Washington Int’ Airport for another twelve hours. His flight back home is the first international flight of the morning, at 8:30am. Which means Nigel would have to get up at least around 5:30, catch a taxi back to the Heathrow airport. Pissed off and letting off his steam by stopping at the hotel bar, at least his stay would be free of charge as he had downed bottles after bottles of whiskey along with draft beer, until the bar kicked him out.

Hammered as he turned in early as he almost never slept before midnight, he had passed out until his alarm rang way too early. With the glass pane windows doing nothing to hide all the glimmering lights of the London nightscape unfolded below him in a panoramic view on twenty-first floor of the Marriott hotel where he had been staying. Forehead and tightly shut eyelids creasing and furrowing, he yawns aloud and sleepily looks at his almost naked figure, his clothes carelessly strewn around the foot and the carpeted floor around the bed.

A robe carelessly tugged over his shoulders as he pads across, a hand scratching above his hipbone and feeling a bit of wetness still clinging onto the tip of his length. Unmistakable mix of lingering sweetness and saltiness of musk upon his tanned skin as the fridge door opens, only finding a half-empty whiskey and half-eaten burger with soggy fries covered in transparent plastic cover greeting him. Of course, in this fucking ungodly hour deep into the night, any kind of room service would be unavailable. Unsatisfied gruff tone slipping out as an indication of the intangible doubts in the recesses of his mind about making the way back home. His hand is quick to slide the plate into the microwave and while the whirling sound echoes through the suite, he takes a long guzzle from the bottle before rummaging his jacket to find a smoke inside crumpled pack. 

The sleet begins to beat against the glass panes and he can’t help to grow restless, the last thing he wants is to be stuck in London on Christmas eve without any substantial food except those fucking fish and chips and subpar viand, he always makes a playful and sarcastic remark about Hannibal preparing the same old cassoulet and vin chaud, in an excuse of being nostalgic and sentimental attachment to their precious memories of adolescence. He isn’t the one to grow softhearted over tender emotions associated with their first Christmas dish after having a roof over their heads. If mesmerized, he takes a long puff, taps the ash inside the ashtray and saunters over to the bedroom to check the forecast.

Before then, he sees the message notification, few missed messages from Hannibal while he had slumbered for a short while.

[ dear brother, 11:12pm ] Still in London? Just got out of the office, so I checked your message now.

[ dear brother, 12:28am ] Of course, I’m planning to make cassoulet with real duck confit and ‘special ingredient’ as if you didn’t know already, the aroma alone takes me to Paris apartment and makes to think of you.

[ dear brother, 3:02am ] Can’t sleep. I miss you so fucking much. 

A relieved sigh lifts his chest as he watches the snow would subside by the early morning, he is quick to check the time again, 3:16am. With five hours difference, his fingers are crossed that Hannibal would be surely awake by now, since it’s barely 10:16pm in the States. Hannibal answers after exactly three rings, his voice low and heavily accented than usual. Probably slumbering or close to it. 

Knowing the house would be empty without any trace of his brother inside it, Hannibal had been staying put after his last patient, guzzling down a bottle of good vintage dry red before deciding to empty another, taking it home and spending time at his study revising a scholarly article he had wrote recently with slightly muddled brain, which wasn’t entirely productive at all. Then, unlike himself, had retired early without doing anything productive. With his iPad, all he looked into is a possible motorcycle for himself, more classical one than what Nigel has and leather apparel for both of them.

“Nigel.”

“Hannibal, you don’t fucking sleep this early, I recall.”

His own voice is nothing like how it sounds usual. guttural and husky, a bit of lump in his throat as he swallows it down. A slight quaver and drawl.

“In fact, I was just about to finally sleep, didn’t sleep much for the past few days, but you got my attention now.”

“Then I fucking advise you to do the same thing that I’m doing now. I’ve got two more fucking hours of waiting to do before I have to drag my ass to the airport.”

A short chuckle, Hannibal feigns his coyness in his voice, but his hands are already down his pajama pants as fingers stroke over his velvety flesh over the smooth crown.

“Your corruption is endless when it comes to having me turned on. Damn you, Nigel.”

Head tipping back against the pillow, Hannibal’s back arches as the hem of his maroon sweater lifts, revealing a stripe of skin as he shimmies his pants just enough to expose his ever growing and stiff erection. He hears Nigel’s low chuckle and bites his lower lip, heels of his feet digging into the mattress. 

“You fucking love it as much as I do, I fucking know it, Hannibal. Now turn the fucking Facetime on and show me what you got.”

Feeling a spot wet against his tight boxers as he props the screen against his bent knee, Nigel’s robe tugs off from his frame as he lifts his hips, his underwear chucked off right in time when Hannibal’s splayed body appears. 

“Good, imagine your hand is my fucking mouth and your fingers are my lips. You’re gonna lick all of your cum clean.”


	105. Nigel has Narcolepsy

Before he registers an unfamiliar hand tapping rather roughly and in annoyed manner, the blaring and infuriated shouts over rows of cars behind him and the blinking traffic light greets his still sleepy and bleary hazel orbs. He was sure when his Ducati stormed forward into the sun kissing over the horizon, painting the vast sky in gold and orange hues and all of a sudden when he feels his flexing biceps loosen against his usual firm grip on the handles.

“I am not fucking hammered and I have a license to carry firearms.”

His voice is much slurred and coming out in a drawl than he intends, although his fiery irises shoot up behind half-shut and deeply set eyelids. Nigel knows more than enough that the amount of sleep he gets doesn’t translate into more onset of sleep paralysis and his usual excessive daytime sleepiness, but as his work at the club became even more hectic and he grew restless and worrying over his intermittent and uncontrollable sleepiness. He was able to work relatively fine when there was always a staff member present with him whenever he had to work in front as a bartender or bouncer at times, but as there had been too much risk for him to do that and it became increasingly dangerous to suddenly fall asleep when he had been performing tricks or near guns.

With another bartender hired to make up for his disorder, he had been taking care of basal and mundane task of going through all the paperworks. At least that had surrounded him in milieu enough, but it would successfully extirpate him from having to abruptly rouse in humiliating situations such as this.

Finding the police officer’s demeanor incendiary, the man’s words caused him to be in a state of frenzy. Apparently, the man had seriously thought Nigel had been inebriated and couldn’t maneuver the bike. A brouhaha still going on behind him as other officers calm the infuriated drivers down, diverting the cars on the other line. Putting on his best imperturbable face, but feeling less than empathetic gaze of the drivers as the drivers’ invidious and malevolent gaze falls upon him as lasers bearing down to burn him whole. Looking at Nigel’s futile attempt to remove his helmet, another police officer, a woman, helps him to chuck it off. His sweaty ashen bang slapped on against his chiseled cheekbones.

Feeling like none of the symptoms correlate with his innate personality, which had been far from being anxious and wanting to avoid people or situations like this. He still was a narcissistic, conceited, self-confident and gorgeous bastard. Although his daredevil and reckless spirit had unintentionally knocked down a notch due to both his apprehensiveness and Hannibal’s stern and concerned words. He was going to great lengths, even cancelling his sessions abruptly to get to wherever he was at times. Hannibal had been thankful that his twin hadn’t been dispatched to Europe while he would be worried to his death, anxious about what would happen.

His impassive face knows what he has coming. Measuring blood alcohol concentration and all that. Having this chronic and incurable disorder meant that he had to cut out alcohol cold turkey when he had been at the club working. The only time he had guzzled it down like a fish had been when he was absolutely positively sure that he’d be at home, with Hannibal to keep company in drinking.

He was so used to it, feeling unbearable sleepiness during the day and experiencing symptoms akin to insomnia at night. With his added inveterate habit of being a nocturnal person meant that he would have to bear it stoically with patience, although he lacks that particular trait. Of course, BAC comes out as normal as he hadn’t been driving under the influence. Still, the officer raises his eyebrows and asks Nigel for his ID and his whereabouts.

“I was at my club for the night and I had been shooting at the range at mid-afternoon.”

He doesn’t remember doing so, as usual, but one of his associate who had accompanied him had noticed Nigel falling asleep while taking a stance to shoot at the target practice. The man grows envious, as he witnesses Nigel’s exceptional marksmanship shine through even when he looks so out of it. Although knees buckle and his face seems to droop, shoulders and knees weak as he had to prop against the ledge to complete his rounds, Nigel manages to shoot all nines and tens, dead center on chest and headshots. Recalling no dialogue whatsoever, the associate had told him that he imagined the target as the man who had ambushed him and gave him the ‘fucking ugly’ scar on his side. The associate thinks how Nigel had survived from it, still walking and be able to partake in killings and fight off people is a wonder of the world on its own.

“All right, but I still don’t think you should drive. Do you have any emergency contacts we can call?”

“My brother, he should be at his office.”

Nigel’s characteristically husky and alertness returning to him as he exhales a sigh, all he wants is to grab a cigarette from the front pocket, stretched over with crumpled pack, business card wallet and a lighter, the tip of his tongue swipes the back of his teeth as he looks up. As much as he wants to move his arms and grab the cell inside his leather jacket, his hand still feels like it doesn’t belong to him. Although he hadn’t had a complete body collapse due to cataplexy, the symptom still is debilitating in its own.

Hannibal grows weary whenever he knows Nigel is coming home. Countless calls from other people, police and Nigel’s associates and even from one of his patients in front of their house when it had been pouring outside. Hannibal had to bring his brother, still on his bike with the helmet on before he had been soaked wet down to the bone.

“Hannibal Lecter speaking.”

Even when he knows Nigel would be calling, Hannibal had always been vigilant with his calls and although his younger twin had bantered about his somewhat tight voice over the speaker, he couldn’t help it. At least his session had been just over and he had been categorizing the patient notes and getting ready to go home for the night. He himself had sipped half bottle of wine during the evening session, but nothing to worry about.

“Your brother is somewhat incapacitated on the intersection of Madison St. and Highland Ave.”

“Was he involved in an accident?”

Even before the police officer finishes speaking, Hannibal is grabbing his overcoat and locking the office, his note strewn all over his desk. Hannibal Lecter, ever meticulous and anal-retentive neat freak, his eyes briefly glance all the mess of the office, but his mind already places him inside his Bentley and he can picture the cramped intersection already.

“No, just… Looking very sleepy and out of sorts. I don’t think he’s capable of driving right now. Can you please pick him up? I’ll help him move off the road.”

In a record time, in ten flat, Hannibal’s Bentley smoothly curves around in front of a convenience store, where Nigel is taking a languid drag of his cigarette, a lazy puff rising off towards the darkened sky where a bit of snowflakes begins to drop. Leaning against the heavy metal reverberating, ankles crossed and standing in contrapposto.

“You look so fucking casual for someone who just managed to fall asleep on the middle of the fucking road.”

Rolling the window open as Hannibal’s head sticks towards Nigel’s direction, Hannibal playfully whistles towards his twin, as always, a good intentioned tease has Nigel to smirk as he mounts the bike after crushing the butt under his boots.

“Can’t fucking help it, I wish I fucking didn’t.”

“I know, let’s go, hotshot. I reserved the Italian restaurant you liked. You can sleep there however long you’d like.”

A knowing smirk, as Hannibal recalls what had just happened under the pretense of getting their usual ‘prime’ and ‘private’ section where they had all to themselves. Hannibal could take the advantage of his brother’s rather vulnerable state and watch him unrestrained, desiring to take Nigel’s features without having the younger twin living up to his billing.


	106. Nigel Draws Hannibal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paint Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character drawing a picture of yours

The last few days of helping Nigel haul all the artworks and other ‘crap’ he had accumulated and strewn around in a rumpled mess in a good excuse of using them as backdrops or references had been grueling. Not only the montages of questionable material and other much traditional ones, some paint still wet to the touch, Nigel had been the odd one and the careless one out of the two. Knowing his twin had an exhibition coming up, Hannibal feared that the artworks would be ruined by the transportation with other furniture and heap of things, but Nigel merely shoved all the lifesize panels and stretched canvases, barely covered with bubble wraps and crumpled boxes and not even having their own wooden crates like other professional painters do for canvases to prevent wet paint from smearing and thus ruining all the other things. “Who the fuck cares if they get ripped, it’s all part of the process and I’ll make sure the pieces finish on time.” Shaking it off as the U-Haul truck makes in front of Hannibal’s spacious two-story house with a loft, at least he’d get enough light from the natural sources when he needs it and wouldn’t have to worry about making the mess nor having the fume permeate the air. The ventilation at the house had been good enough and Hannibal had promised him to get an air ventilator if he needs one.

Hauling the huge panels had been much harder than carrying few furnitures, merely a coffee table and drawers, all emptied out and clothes thrown out or donated. Hannibal had been utterly shocked when he found Nigel’s old clothes still sitting inside the drawers, things that wouldn’t fit him ever. Remembering snippets of times when they had been living together under one roof, how small and lithe his younger twin had been and how he had grown into a tall and handsome man who unabashedly partakes in hedonistic life. Of course he himself had partaken in pleasurable things in life, while he had immersed himself in achieving so much at his young age. Without ever considered a promotion, his rank at the hospital soared and he had became the youngest surgeon ever to grace prestigious Johns Hopkins, while working as a teacher assistant with the most respected neurologist who had a penchant for taking the absolute best. 

With the last heavy panel along with boxful of extraneous materials, scraps of fabrics, torn off sketches, crumpled tracing paper sheets and erotica magazines along few, Nigel ties his mane with rubber band wrapped around his wrist. Carding ashen blond locks with his hands and sweeping the long bangs off his chiseled cheekbones, he exhales long before looking around his bedroom/studio. Definitely looking more like a place where he could unfold and strewn out all of his half-baked ideas against the whole section opposite his sofa-bed, while letting his three-quarters finished epic life-sized canvas with all of his pinned drawings and traced croquis with charcoal and conte crayons. 

Tugging his sweat-drenched t-shirt over his head and unbuckling his paint stained jeans to shimmy them off, Nigel plucks out a big pad of newsprint and pulls a heavyweight sheet of watercolor paper from his fattened portfolio case, pinning the corners down and setting up the easel. “And why are you taking off all of your clothes?” Raising a curious and amused eyebrow, Hannibal had already speculated the nature of his brother’s work as he had seen some of his major works at the gallery last time, but had to just make sure.

“I always work stark naked and I’ll be videotaping the whole fucking thing as a performance installation. This eliminates me having to lock inside the gallery for one whole fucking week. Would love to do it all on this marvelous loft though.” As soon as his tight boxers chucks off from his slender legs, Nigel rummages through the boxes, tugging all the cords and taking out all the necessary devices, including his projector, printer, all of his sketches and materials, the stool by the window, tracing paper full of outline of erotica images. However pretentious and self-absorbed it looks, he knows it would garner more attention and with his work process, most of all, he would get to draw Hannibal naked as well. If his older twin compiled, the audience would barely see the shapely and impressive figure, not his face. He had just changed the angle, so that it would take in all of the other workspace, but not where he had set up the easel, effectively blocking off where Hannibal would be standing and posing. 

“It’s not like I’ll be weary of getting my appearance known to the public. Who the fuck cares if I’m the one who’s being stark naked while you perform your thing?” Hannibal didn’t admit it to the younger twin before, but however drastically different they were despite being an identical twin, born merely three minutes apart, he had accept that Nigel was indeed handsome. Unkempt, messy, careless, sure, but pretentious, narcissistic and uncaring to what other people thought, he wasn’t an exception to blush under Nigel’s relentless and shameless concupiscent lechery, both from his body of work and how he carried himself to the public. As restrained and somewhat indifferent he had been, it wasn’t like Hannibal didn’t have any sexual experience, although he increasingly felt that there had been an empty void. Of course, he had been exceptional and always excelled at his work as he totally immersed and was always meticulous at his work, never letting himself to make a single mistake. Having been the youngest student to graduate Johns Hopkins with his Master’s degree, all he had to do to get his Doctorate degree had been giving his dissertation a once-over before submitting it to the most renowned surgeon of the prestige university. 

“Good, I didn’t fucking think you’d back out after taking me into your fucking loft.” Taking the tackle box which he had been using it as his art supply box, Nigel grabs a few long sticks of charcoal, all three types. His favorite being the compressed and powder, he always begins his croquis with vine before he piles up and makes a complete mess with the former two. Watching intently and transfixed as Hannibal strips off each layer, broader and slightly heavier, impressive frame underneath the neatly pressed suit trousers and dress shirt with sweater on top appears. “You’ve already told me you know how to draw, all that anatomical shit you have to draw for your hospital work.” Dramatically flipping his newsprint over the big easel, Nigel motions with the hand that holds the vine charcoal. “Thirty seconds each, start with static pose and do more dynamic poses as the time passes. I’m planning to do thirty. So fifteen minutes in total.”   
As Nigel’s eyes signal him to start, Hannibal raises an eyebrow, but begins posing against another stool next to the window. The late afternoon light beating down, it offers a natural light source as it creates a stark lights and darks on Hannibal’s slightly tanned body. When Nigel draws, his limbs expressive as it outstretches to carry the fluid motion, the newsprint soon fills with quick gestural sketches and his naked form gets a thin layer of soot and the only sound filling the room is their slow breaths and sound of charcoal pressing in various strengths, wrinkling the paper and marking decisive marks. 

Hannibal’s maroon orbs take in Nigel’s overly striking movements and he goes along with it, following Nigel’s instructions as his pose increasingly becomes fluid and almost theatrical. “You really seem to be in your element, like your personality, it’s all decisive and impactful.” Lips curling up in a gentle arch, Nigel merely smirks as he tears and throws the sketches over on the floor, penetrating eyes searching for which particular sketch to blow up in proportion. 

“Oh, fuck, yes. That pose.” Hannibal’s hand stretches up in the air, with one of his foot bent over the backrest, as if he’s desperately reaching for something. Nigel’s decisive stroke had put down Hannibal’s spine, all the way down to his leg propping him up in one firm stroke. “I want you to cover yourself in black charcoal powder and stamp yourself on that canvas, lean against it and rub it in. like leaving your own impression on the surface.” Nigel’s hands had already disappeared in a tub of charcoal powder, covering his front as he plans to do the same before Hannibal. “On that fucking empty canvas, it’s all gessoed and sanded down, so you won’t get any fucking burn from the rough weave.” 

Hannibal’s pupils blow wide. “You fucking want me to do what?” Raking through his slightly damp dark bangs, he watches Nigel saunter over in front of the huge canvas, propped against the wall opposite the windows. A tub of charcoal powder in his hand and compressed charcoal in another hand, he puts the tub on the floor before firmly pressing himself against the edge, marking faint and blurry outline of his silhouette. Walking over to Hannibal and grabbing his wrist, he tugs him close against him, hand grabbing a fistful of the fine powder and splattering all over Hannibal’s face and chest. 

“What the fuck, Nigel.” Coughing as halo of fine particles create a circle around where they’re standing, Nigel smirks and roughly pushes his older twin against the canvas, directly beside where his mark had been. Hand pressing down Hannibal’s cheek, he rubs the powder all over the surface, watching the gray form appear. “Just like that. it’s a fucking performance, so let your fucking inhibition down and let it all go on this canvas.” 

A hand gliding southward to grab onto Hannibal’s hipbones, Nigel’s lascivious gaze locks onto his twin’s growing interest, covered with faint layer of powder. “And I do need another thing from your body to use as an adhesive and it works as another textural element. It’d incorporate nicely to the performance aspect of all this.” A thumb stroking over Hannibal’s lower lip, Hannibal’s firm ass presses against the stretched canvas as Nigel’s forceful push sends his body to dip against the fabric. “Any preferences?” Hannibal’s maroon orbs narrow as his hand closes in above the carotid, watching a bit of powder lump as a trail of sweat falls down Nigel’s forehead. “I think you already know the answer.”


	107. The City of Debauchery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V; Weimar. Set in Berlin.

In the darkness as the tip of the sun peeks over the horizon in the distance, with the thundering applause of the audience behind him, Nigel looks down on the still pitch-dark alleyway. With the cabaret empty without few performers staying behind to clean themselves off, Nigel merely looks over at the horizon, where gray veil of a fog takes over the view, the gentle current of the Havel flowing beneath the gradually descending effluvium before the refreshing petrichor assaults his nose, along with the smoke clenched tight around his pressed and crimson lips, lipstick smeared around his full lips as he languidly puffs, feeling a tiny raindrop land against his bare thigh on his bent leg.

Long ashen blond locks curled tight and gelled heavily, glued to his side and his face heavily painted as usual. Cheekbones accentuated with the light powder, deep-set and glimmering hazel transfixed vaguely in the distance, his sharp nose lifted as his chin tips backward. A black, feathery and delicate flocculent scarf covering his lithe but subtle musculature underneath, completing the total package. The black leather skirt the only skimpy and exiguous garment wrapped around his slender waist, his still flushed and sensitive length presses firmly against the lining inside, dense pearly white painted across his bare skin and drips under the damp atmosphere, his skin contracting as a lazy hand brushes over the fluid, still sleek and wet with amalgamation of Hannibal’s and his release.

Feeling the fat wads of bills, folded in half and shoved down his thigh-high boots, the garters underneath stretches further as his muscular thighs flex as he shifts his hips. Bare back pressed against the paint-chipped and cold wall, it quenches his surging heat inside his core as his flushed and sweaty skin cools down a notch. With the heavy exhale sending the puff of smoke directly clouding his vision, Hannibal’s fur-clad silhouette appears from behind, the steel door creaking and as soon as Hannibal’s side pushes through the open door, the downpour instantly wets the ground as the cascading rain beats against the glass panes, throwing jabs and punches as the loose surface rattles violently. Nigel could feel the muddy ground making the pointed heels sink his weight like a quicksand. 

A French client, a bit standoffish and judging by his demeanor and glances sizing Nigel up, Nigel figures that he was perhaps a nobody who didn’t know about his reputation as a temptress of a performer inside the cabaret. Along with his brother, the gorgeous twins, dubbed here as ‘Die Wunderschönen Zwillingen,’ whenever they closed for the night, the audiences had blanketed with rose pedals and ovation of applause. Nigel knew very well that his rates would be what it was considered ‘highway robbery.’ The man had said nothing about this and paid as soon as Nigel fulfilled the screwball of an idea; covering the man’s face and neck with his heavy makeup as his lips kissed all over the man’s rough and hard exterior. Possibly a grunt worker, the man seemed to get a rush from Nigel’s added final touch, a rough nip at the crook of the man’s neck, the knotted muscle tensing even more as the man got off himself under the rumpled suit trousers, too loose and knees sticking out. Conversing in French as years of speaking German helped Nigel to pick up the language in a breeze and without batting an eyelid, he watches the man clean himself off, leaning in for the last kiss from the most sought after man in the cabaret. An inveterate erotic tease, like he had been with the suitors, his enticing movement brazenly contacts the man’s still erect genital, brazenly grinding against him before turning to perch against the wall behind him.

Throughout the night, the wild sex and all fun and games took over the cabaret, among with cheap whores and desired performers such as Hannibal and himself, his tantalizing striptease and audacious and daring movements, striking like a predator at times, most often feline as his movement remained tantalizingly bantering. His thick and luscious eyelashes curled up and batting against the lids, fiery at times, yet mesmerizing and petrifying gaze dropping everyone’s jaw. Hannibal appears and winds an arm around his lean waist, not an ounce of fat on the hermaphrodite frame. Donning a fur coat as white as a girl’s alabaster skin, the only thing covering Hannibal’s slightly broader and tanned body is the garters underneath the lush feathery garment. A stark contrast between his body and his painted face, dolled up like a mannequin akin to how Nigel’s face had been painted; high cheekbones, accentuating the prominent structure underneath, smeared eyelids along with pointed lines, thick mascara, topped with crimson rouge, neater than his brother’s, considering Hannibal’s maroon fixates on those smeared lips and he immediately registers what the younger twin had been up to.

“The antics of the new stream of crowds is quickly becoming the talk of the cabaret. Richer, prosperous crowd of French and those champagne-toasting and roaring mess of Germans.” Hannibal’s stilettos click against the cemented floor, his amazing ability to elegantly balance himself against the small stone staircase, just off the open back door. Taking another languid drag as he watches the halo of puffed smoke blend with the heavy misty air, Hannibal’s fingers steal Nigel’s smoke, their respective figures leaning against each other. Without any hindrance and pretentiousness of the performance elements, as soon as the cigarette shortens and carelessly discards, as if promised and timed, their bodies catapult against each other’s in a consuming and devouring kiss. Plush lips gliding and smearing, beads of sweat and condensed orbs of water rolling off of their pressed bodies, limbs tangling as the heels click, garters brushing and tearing under their nails. Their costumes discarded, an abundance of them came with the fortune they had already made. Furs tainted with mud and grime underneath them, Nigel’s skirt is the last thing to chuck off from his body, the entrapped erection twitches as their exposed skin glides together as ever growing erections kiss and embrace once again, as they had been done it on the stage, but with more fluidity.

Never an exhibitionist down at heart, but they feed off the energy along with each other’s presence. Although Hannibal had enjoyed performing, giving the audience what they wanted to see - feigning his dominance and being in charge as he often took Nigel by his behind or making him ride his lap, Hannibal surely knows in any case, it’s the younger twin who holds the whip, so to speak. The lipsticks slashing across their face and stark naked except their garters, stilettos and leg-hugging thigh highs, Nigel’s hand spins his older twin around, pressing his front against the broader back. The atmosphere grows even more caliginous, their bulging silhouette obscured by the stacked empty liquor crates by the back.

With the deluge drowning out their quickened breaths and breathless moans, Hannibal’s gasp that knocks the air out of his lungs quickly succeeded by Nigel’s quivering flesh behind him, their bodies conjoined to fit perfectly together. A series of nips along Hannibal’s broad shoulders as faint rouge paints over the drenched skin, the suspenders that had been holding Nigel’s garters come off around his narrow hips as he ties Hannibal’s wrists with the leather strap. Their bodies rolling like rippling waves in the tempestuous storm, Nigel halts from thrusting hard into Hannibal’s tight, puckering walls, his squeezing and fluttering movement continues to send his body in a soaring ecstasy. “You know you only hold the keys to making me incoherent and all choked up.” And drive each other crazy, respectively.


	108. Berlin, the Libertine City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weimar Verse. Nigel's first-perspective narrative.

Berlin, the libertine city of the Weimar era, there stands me. Dressed to kill, ready to bring down the house with the hearty and thunderous ovation with Hannibal, my partner in performance, the only performer on the curved stage who is ‘good’ enough to tame the beast in me. With pitch-black eyeliner and shadows painted over the lids, sharp lines curve upward and accentuating his intense hazel, face pressed with white powder, an emphasis along my sharp cheekbones, making them more pronounced. Crimson lips, stark as they stand out from my porcelain and flawlessly angular face. Damn, I look fucking devilishly stunning and brutally handsome in paint. I do love the natural me as well, but whenever I’m dolled up under pigments and take on the stage persona, then I become the most sought-after temptress with a super-voluptuous flame burning through my spine, unquenchable until my body paints with the pearly white. Dressed in black and lush mink shawl with form-fitting and streamlined blazer of the same color, which gives an emphasis on my narrow waist and hips, my flushed and already erect length twitches under the silk panties as the stilettos click against the floor.

Standing outside the back door where I would circle around the spectators and some of my exclusive suitors, oh yes, I don’t fucking take all and any like those fucking whores. I know I am the ‘seductive temptress’ that everyone looks for and I sweep off their feet whenever I close the performance. All the others are mere leading up to the grand finale. Gartered up as the suspenders hold onto the stockings, with the hairs on my long, slender and muscled legs effectively hidden with the close-weaved netting, I pace myself slowly as narrow hips swagger, a knowing yet imperceptible smirk adorn my lips as I do the walk and take in all the lascivious and desiring gaze of the suitors.

As the velvety crimson curtain draws open, Hannibal is already on the stage, also with devouring and all-consuming gaze. The rest of the house light dims and it illuminates the small curved stage, where my brother sits, donning a black corset which creates a stark and sensuous curve along those narrow waist while the top part accentuates Hannibal’s broader shoulders. A cravat around his taut neck muscles, sculpted collarbones smeared with glittering substance and makes them pop out. Donning thigh-high boots and nothing underneath it, his erection already greets me with a subtle twitch, an unmistakable glist along the shaft as my lover’s hips shift above the bar stool. The sparking maroon and hazel meet up in mid-air like thousands of bolts of raw current traversing up in the air, my steps become a stride to a saunter, pointed heels drag and brush against my calf as I give few lewd glances over my shoulder across the floor. My smooth jaw tickles against the feathery mink, so lush and bouncy under my skin. The audience’s jaws already dropped, seeing my smooth head peeking out above the thin waistband of the silk panties and Hannibal’s thick and fat length, so eager for my heat to swallow and suck it. 

Hannibal’s voice, sweeter than honey, drips into my ear as I stand mere feet away from him. A subtle inhale confirms my brother’s imminent arousal, the heavy musk and the scent of perfume clinging on his skin and costumes. Our scantily, but tastefully clad bodies barely coming to contact. “Willkommen zu Hause, wunderschön,” he says. Instead of answering, fingers clasp around the string that holds the mink shawl over my shoulders. Painfully slow and I can feel myriads of eyes against my hand, which moves in an unhurried pace, throughout the process of removing the garment and tossing it on Hannibal’s lap. Underneath the lush mink, a choker appears and the hain pressing just under my adam’s apple feels especially cool against the heated skin, like coals burning gray with retaining heat.

With sinister and a bit raucous music playing in the background in a rather ominous manner, the musical tones become a mere white noise as my hand roughly tugs the cravat around Hannibal’s neck. Feeling him shift as his erection twitches in anticipation, I pull out a flower petal, pressed against the garters, secured by the netting, laced with coke. Another one slides off and I stretch the stocking, preventing it from dropping off to the floor. The underside of the tongue pressing against the crystals, the sour note permeates my mouth as I fling the tip of my tongue, bringing the petal to stick to it. A hand reaching for immaculately gelled and parted hair of my lover, mussing it up as I tilt his chin, locking crimson to crimson as skins press, smearing colors over as the drug laden petal transfers into Hannibal’s lips. A tingling jolt sparks my nerves alive as I tantalizingly press my knee into Hannibal’s erection, feeling the heated arousal spill and wet a spot on the stocking. 

Fingers tightening around the silk cravat as I feel Hannibal’s carotid artery squeeze, I use the flat of the heel to leverage to use more force, stiletto pressing against his inner thigh as the pointed tip presses against the plush leather cushion. The mink shawl and blazer underneath already tossed and sliding off to fall on the floor, my bare torso feels warm against the cool whip of the air that sweeps, like the roused sound coming from the audience, but they merely become the backdrop and blurs as I concentrate all of my attention to Hannibal’s breathing, strained, his adam’s apple bobbing as the fabric digs into the skin. Then I feel Hannibal’s hand onto my panties with his half-mast orbs and along with the sound of the audience becomes something like a low frequency, drumming with gentle percussion against his eardrums as it fades from his attention. Hannibal’s hitched breaths even more flowing music to my ears, I feel Hannibal’s burning hands sear my skin as panties rip away from my hips and as I slowly lower myself in feline movement onto my brother’s lap, the sensitive tip kisses my lover’s abdomen.

My husky voice drawl as gasping sound becomes a whisper. “Halt mich, brennen mich ganz, von innen nach außen.” And I expect this is exactly what will happen, Hannibal burning me from inside out. With the fabric’s weave tearing the signal, Hannibal is on verge of slipping to the other side and that is exactly when I let go of the cravat, unwinding it from his neck and impale myself on his weeping cock, lewd sight greeting me as precum pools between his legs, velvety sacs already turned color as his strong arms prop against the counter just behind him. With the tip of his chin, Hannibal’s chest sticks out, straining to rise under the constricting fabric. Just as I feel the wet tip kiss my fluttering entrance, I pull the string that tightens the corset and immediately, Hannibal’s chest fluff comes to life as beaks of the ducklings trying to break its shell, ready to take their first view into the world.

It is dangerous time we live in, the world ravaged with World War, the country on the brink of collapsing and life had been difficult. Letting the corruption take over and being wild and living in debauchery and promiscuous world is the most carnal and raw form which people can clutch onto. I let myself immerse in that world, so does Hannibal and all the other people in the audience do. What would be considered taboo and blasphemy in the other parts of the world becomes the normalcy. 

No matter how many times I fuck myself on Hannibal’s cock, as the throbbing length breaches my tight resistance, a paralyzing paroxysm sweeps my body, as if a Medusa’s gaze had me petrified. All of my nerves spark and burn as Hannibal’s corset finally drops on the ground to join my costumes. Limbs as well as each exchange of breath tangled to conjoin in oneness, with the audience repressed deep into the oblivion as the only two people, in a whirlwind of love, from consuming and exploring lips to hands grazing over the sweat covered skin, onto the tight lock, muscles rippling like waves as heels drag across the hardwood floor. Overwhelming and heavy musk soon assaults my nostrils as our orgasms successively knock my breaths out. Panting and puffing as my tip continues to kiss and paint ropes of pearly white all over our chest and my fluttering rim makes the most lewdest sound as Hannibal’s essence spills between my legs. Hand reaches behind my firm globes, Hannibal’s, gently groping and smearing the dense beads over and feels the unquenchable heat that still emits from my inside.


	109. Torturous Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person B having torturous auditory and visual hallucinations of Person A, fully knowing that A has been in a year-long coma. When A finally wakes up, they cannot understand why B is hysterically sobbing while tightly embracing them for an eternity of time.

There are days even ever-composed and imperturbable Dr. Hannibal Lecter somewhat loses his mind and breaks down. His usual Thursday evening session, the very last one of the day is abruptly cancelled as he gets a grieving phone call from Ms. Barlow’s friend that his patient had committed suicide. With tortuous cadence of facing the devastating news of Nigel foregoing the exact same act in Bucharest resurfacing to his tempestuous mind, and his already stirred up mind reels to replay Nigel’s hasty transfer to Johns Hopkins as soon as he is given the last string to hold all of his hopes for, Hannibal recalls the initial heart-stopping news of hospital in Bucharest having pronounced Nigel dead as soon as his twin arrived at the ER.

That had been his first emergency call overseas, from Nigel’s very work cell, an untraceable number coming through. He had suspected that it had been an insignificant one, but having the unknown number continuously call him in the midst of his session in the early afternoon, he had no choice to answer it. It shattered his heart into a million pieces, so much so that he had to cancel the rest of his appointments, excusing himself of feeling under the weather and had wailed inside his office, drowning in bottles of dry red until he passed out against the lounge. To his great relief, thankfully, fluttering heartbeat was found after resuscitating Nigel and since then, he had been placed in a coma and carefully watched in an ICU before he had been quickly transported as his adamant and still assertive position at the renowned hospital helped Nigel’s quick sign off. The cadence of things had been the most dramatic rollercoaster ride of his whole life, more so as it triggers another one of his triggering event. His nightmares were full of vivid details and milieu.

Having literally thrown himself in Nigel’s unembracing and still as board chest, Hannibal weeps until his tear duct has nothing to produce. Finally having his brother whom he hadn’t seen for almost thirty years by his side as Hannibal said his condolences and listened to what her partner had to say with attentiveness with swollen set of exhausted maroon orbs, whirling emotions sweep his mind as he reluctantly lets go of their entwined fingers, a thumb rubbing over Nigel’s veiny and calloused hand. Eyes exploring all the creases around the eyes, Hannibal’s face flashes a minute scowl as his eyes transfix against Nigel’s color drained face. It looks so far from how vibrant and feline-like Nigel had been with his usual mischievousness and expressive face, the unquenchable ember burning from those piercing hazel and luscious and long ashen locks shaved and bandaged up, tubes and lines connecting and covering his sunken and emaciated face, his younger twin looked nothing like how Hannibal had remembered him in their adolescent years or how he pictured his twin to be.

Gathering his overcoat and briefcase full of patient notes he needs to sort out in his usual meticulous manner and a book full of sketches of his brother he had wished to show him and tell the accounts, the associated memory beats down like a beating waves on the wind chafed shore, not those touristy places with crystal clear water and fine sand that slides off each of the toe. It’s all barren, full of venomous creatures and stinging rays. No, never in my life I’m leaving you alone ever again. _There’s only one direction which this can lead to, a considerable improvement, both in our relationship and your physical condition_. As trite as it sounds, blood is thicker than water and Nigel is the only flesh and blood he has left.

Retrieving his sketchbook and gingerly laying the well-worn surface against Nigel’s lifeless hand, he leans against his brother, pecking a soft kiss on exposed strip of flesh. Finding the skin parched dry as crackling pork skin, Hannibal pushes back a heavy film of tear surfacing across his irises as he sniffs, exiting the room with a longing glance. Drug overdose, speedballed. In her late thirties looking more like in mid to late twenties. Ms. Margaret Barlow had reminded everything about his own twin brother in the damn private hospital ward. Of course, he had been used to hearing the rhythmic beeping of the vital machine all those years when he used to work as an ER surgeon. He had quit his job and moved onto psychiatry, because every time the patient died, he couldn’t help but to feel guilty. How hypocritic, being a cannibalistic serial killer who killed free range rude, but to Hannibal, those people who had been in the hospital, whether they had been the most charitable character or notorious criminals, was in his care, in his charge. Now having transferred his passion to cooking, all he had hoped to do was to cook Nigel their typical Christmas viand. Cassoulet and vin chaud. Hannibal could already predict Nigel’s characteristic smirk and banter, always making fun of the ‘ _same old fucking tradition_.’ Now he’d do anything to serve his brother the proper homecoming meal that he deserves so much. _Not like this, Nigel. You are not going to fade away and I won’t let you go this time._

Hannibal had been especially attached to this patient, because her demise had reminded him of Nigel, but also how Margaret’s dramatic life had turned around matched his own interests. Having been recently admitted to a prestigious graduate art school, hoping to double major in art history and studio arts. Hannibal had offered her many insights as he didn’t lack the skill nor expertise opinion and knowledge, perhaps too enthusiastic and going out as far as to offering to write a recommendation for her, as he had been a long standing patron of Baltimore Art Museum and few of his colleagues had been working as a curator and he also had once considered following the path to become an artist and a historian himself. Maybe he was projecting, he wanted Nigel to stop his self-destructive way of living, as he could see his twin meeting the same fate, if the suicide attempt had led him straight onto the bleak white walls of the hospital.

The news devastated him much more with the escalated tension, almost petrifying him. She had a certain charm, mesmerizing personality, good vibes and most importantly, a good person to bounce things off because she had such a clever mind. Assertive, narcissistic and a bit rude but holding a high self-esteem, in other words, she reminded him of Nigel too much to give her the credit for. She was about to soar into the real world after struggling with narcotics addiction and binge drinking to chase the ephemeral pleasure, she had been going through the withdrawal so well until every inhibition crumbled down hard. That sealed her fate as she met her untimely demise.

As Margaret didn’t have any living relatives and Hannibal had been the sole emergency contact, he had to go through all the procedure. Deciding to cremate her and scatter her ash in Europe, where she so enthusiastically talked about of going. Perhaps in Amalfi coast where he had owned a beach house. Hannibal daydreams of going there in the imminent future. He’s sure Nigel would be persistent and headstrong, never relinquishing the desires to live, just like he once had been with his own life. When he drags his lassitude self into Nigel’s hospital room again, it is well over past midnight and Nigel is as still as he left him, except his sketchbook had been slightly moved and Nigel’s IV and tubes had been changed. Nurses definitely had come in while he had been gone to change his brother’s position to prevent bedsores and to check all the vital signs.

Hannibal visits his brother every single day, no matter how late his sessions end or even when he has conferences to attend, he is unconcerned about those and makes his way back to his former workplace. His imagination unfolds as soon as he sets his foot into the room. Knowing how private he got and not tolerating any kind of disturbance, the nurses leave Hannibal alone when his oxfords stride in long steps. Whether he gives Nigel a sponge bath, or shows one of his sketches of Nigel, stark naked and peacefully slumbering on Sunday morning, under the soft beating light against their one-bedroom windows, his vivid and whirling mind instantly travels to the time, reliving those exquisite and unforgettable memories. Knowing that his brother’s incapacitated body lays still against his front as he presses against Nigel, searching for the warmth that isn’t simply there. Of course, the vital is existent, the most crucial intracranial pressure stabilized and the pulse remains normal, albeit fluttering and weak. Still not being able to breath on his own, the oxygen mask continues to fog up as Hannibal’s soft words whisper against Nigel’s left ear.

“This particular one holds so much memory. You came home very late and I had been still up, there were days when I just couldn’t sleep without you by my side, especially when you worked late at the docks. I know you are more than capable of protecting yourself when the situation gets too dangerous, but after that… Incident when you almost died inside one of the containers, you were bleeding from your anus. I was so fucking worried to death.” Swallowing a lump in his throat, Hannibal continues. “The click of the stilettos offered both comfort and weariness. More of the latter. You were as always so fucking headstrong and stubborn. Of course, we were financially better off with your scheme, but I didn’t like a thing about what you did there. Too risky and dangerous and you looked like such a temptress, a vixen even. There were days I could satisfy you and tame the insatiable beast within you, but you enjoyed the ‘work’ too much.” A hand strokes over a strip of exposed flesh along Nigel’s chest, fingers moving like those of spider’s, gliding over the sticky web as it spun a web to entrap a fly inside the cocoon, ready to suck the life out of the prey. Nigel’s chest rises against Hannibal’s broad palm, thatch of chest hair lacing his fingers as they graze over.

One day after his usual sessions, too enervated and drained to move, Hannibal’s head slumps against Nigel’s side, hand still laced together as he slumbers. The dream is as picturesque as it gets, playing out the bath he had given his brother a day before. A curious tilt, then his intense crimson hues waver and transfix against the most particularly ugliest and crude scar he has ever seen appears before him as he gingerly pulls the hospital gown against Nigel’s limp body. What the fuck happened to you and who did this? Somehow, Hannibal’s sure that the assailant responsible for this unspeakable evisceration is already dead and suffered for. Fingers registering in all the muscles and years of scarring imprinted on pale skin, Hannibal’s baritone voice echoes off the walls like a composed musical piece, their own composition which had been etched to both of their brains. All the precious memories of their blissful adolescence, especially during the wintertime when they relied on their own body heat under way too thin blanket to shelter themselves from the biting cold.

Basking in Nigel’s scent and redressing him to be carried back to the bed, Hannibal’s life is as busy as once he had been working as a chief ER surgeon. Hospital is his second home, bringing his spare clothes and meals, sleeping on the side bed and most often, easing down in the armchair and holding Nigel’s hand. It had been another one of those nights when he’s still in his overcoat, taking in Nigel’s pallid face now without any hindrance of oxygen mask and bandages. The hair had grown, choppy in many places and needing of a haircut. Not letting his mundane life discourage him, Hannibal is about to slip into an oblivion and that’s when he feels a little twitch along the entwined fingers. A slow as a snail trying to find its way back to damp ground, but as Hannibal’s heavy lids open back up in darkness, the moonlight shading across the bed reaffirms the fluttering movement, Nigel’s lashes fluttering, then lids slowly lift to reveal those honeyed hues Hannibal longed to drown in so much.

Finding no words to describe how he feels, as his spine tingles with electric current, his heart rapidly jolts and his nerves dance with incomparable joy. Feeling beside himself, irrepressible tears flow like a river as his view becomes bleary, brushstrokes dancing in front of his view as free falling tears become even more turbulent. The sense of time halts, all the perfunctory rituals he unconsciously and routinely followed wiped out from his memory. Arms clutching and winding around to hold his brother for infinite amount of time. This is the heaven, so he had thought.

A confused gaze as cheeks brush, Nigel’s hand moves with a speed of a person walking inside the slough as he treads. Slender fingers clasping around Hannibal’s clothed shoulder, a slow blink focuses his foggy sight. A vertiginous feeling passing and the blurred form converges to zero in the angular face. “Who the _fuck_ are you?”


	110. Scar Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v; Florence, where Hannibal and Nigel are married.

With a band of moisture clinging onto his neck as he props Hannibal’s broader form up to their second-floor bathroom, conjoined with their master suite as he regards his twin’s drooping stance. Half-mast maroon, still intense and burning as ever with the unmistakable adrenaline still coursing through his veins and propelling to carry himself off to the copper claw-foot bathtub. Lifting his chin and feeling the dewlap stretch, where Jack had taken the decisive blow, intending to end his life, but he had slowed the projectile just enough for him to crash onto the cobblestone as he defied death yet again. 

“Problem solving is hunting, it is a savage pleasure and we are born to it.” And Jack finally succumbed, or better, took action to make that come true. I intend to end Jack’s life once and for all, as I let him beat me down. “I got who I wanted to get, Jack saw an opportunity and took it like a man this time.” A faintest scowl take over Hannibal’s facade, his expression remarkably serene after what it looks like a calamitous beat down. 

Nigel scoffs and growls like a starved panther ready to hunt its prey down. No matter how big or formidable this fucking Jack is, he’d personally take him down as well. His wedding ring tightens around the digit as fingers curl into a fist. “Just shut up and undress if you have fucking energy to talk.” Nigel doesn’t even try to hide his raw emotion that efflorescence like a stepped on flower lifting itself up under harsh conditions. Hannibal looks utterly beleaguered with what it seems like an annihilation. Definitely someone who knows how to fight and use the environment to his advantage. His accessing eyes immediately take the visible damage above all the soiled garments. Protruding glass shards, some more glistening, fine crystals dusted upon his twin’s battered face, blood still dripping from the tied leg, the makeshift tourniquet loosening with each step taken. Thoroughly and deliciously messed up.

An arm unwinding from Hannibal’s waist as Nigel pads towards the tub, checking the temperature of the water as a finger grazes over the surface. As soon as he quickly tugs off his own shirt, Hannibal’s blood and scent having transferred over as he watches it fall, his impatient hand gives his twin a helping hand as he rips the shirt open. He can’t still make if Hannibal’s desultory movements are intentional or genuine. Nevertheless, the layers, the flayed vest and shirt drenched with blood and glass shards from the display cases gets thrown off, discarded off to the side.

Uncaring as the back of his hands scratch and cut with those fragments, as soon as Nigel strips down to his boxer briefs, a hand caresses over the contusion on Hannibal’s broad chest, which elicits a subtle, almost imperceptible groan from the twin. Feeling the back of his brother’s legs hit the edge of the tub as the steamy water fills up to half the tub, Nigel’s full lips tinge with red as he molds his lips close to the circular cuts over on Hannibal’s right cheek and lips that still dribble blood. Warmth spreading and surging downward as other hand quickly unzips the pants, Hannibal’s hand presses against Nigel’s hips, their flesh firm against each other’s, conjoined in his own blood as his lids flutter close. Lips sucking and feeling the raised edge of the skin, he hums, a familiar iron-rich and metallic tang intensified with his own arousal.

“Are you going to kiss me more, I am assuming you’ll join me for the bath you’re preparing for me.” 

Batting Hannibal’s hand away from his own hips, jutting hipbones exposed as the tip of his cock peeks over the waistband with a swift motion. “Get that fucking tourniquet off and get into the bath before I shove you in.” A hand squeezed around Hannibal’s collarbone, his lips surge as his head tilts, licking over the sensitive skin which starts to bloom a deep purple, livid bruise. 

Tilting his head, Hannibal emits a sound, something between an impassioned groan and whimper. “If you continue to do that, I don’t think I’ll want to get in the water.”


	111. After a Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v; demon Nigel (well, technically shapeshifter), where he dies and Hannibal brings him back.

A day had passed, the radiant sun already had disappeared behind the horizon as the sparkling diamonds scatter across the vast sky. Merely two days ago, his lifeless body, swollen and broken into millions of pieces beyond recognition was found. His identity only confirmed by dental records and his distinct tattoo on the left side of his neck. Having engaged in copulatory activities all night, Hannibal’s body is pressed against him so tight, almost sealed in a vacuum as if he’d never let his twin go. Even the minute movement has his twin’s arm squeezing him like a constricting boa. Spine arching and his length, already half-hard pushing against Hannibal’s own, he doesn’t have to see it to believe. 

Knowing Hannibal is already awake, but pretending to be deeply slumbering, a hand draws a scything motion as he feels the warmth of the golden brushstrokes, painting the broad tanned form as he feels an imperceptible rise and fall of the other’s chest through his own, strong and gradually elevating as his chin digs into the shoulder blade. Increasingly more, sleeping evades him entirely as he grows weary, fearing once he slips into an oblivion, his gingerly shut eyelids wouldn’t open no matter how hard he tried. 

Sharp cheekbone gliding across Hannibal’s as he rolls them forward, fingers webbing through the thatch of chest fluff as he feels the duvet, cocooning them into one entangled clump drops down his hipbones. Another hand already wrapped around his twin’s strong neck, he pulls himself up the quicksand of the lassitude and against the broader form that seems to tremble. Then, with a decisive and languid blink of his fluttering lashes, he feels a fat drop of saltiness smear across his cheek. Hannibal’s or his? He can’t bring it to perception just yet. 

If a heaven existed, then it would look and feel like this, the ocean stretched in front of him through the impeccable house filled with luminosity, the glowing aura broaden and basks them in one congruent motion. Suffocating in their mingling scents as he finally lulls into a tranquil shuteye. The last thing he feels is Hannibal whispering something, but he had already crossed the nether of the torpidity.


	112. Curled Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Imagine Person A wants to surprise Person B by coming home early (from work, a long trip, etc.). They walk into the living room to find Person B curled up into a blanket burrito, asleep. They pick up the wrapped up Person B, sit down, and lay Person B delicately on their lap and wait for them to wake up.

A fucking week of ‘business’ trip made Nigel most glum individual ever en route to Bucharest, once his habitat city, full of riddled angst and anguishing memories that left him irreparable scars, along with one particularly horrendous and tainted strip of flesh full of hatred and animosity. Now on the returning flight from London, the last layover turned out to be the most longest hour of his life, even more so than the bike ride which reunited them in the most dramatic and fortuitous way possible.

With a vintage red and Tulca, a Romanian plum wine in his hand, dangling and twirling as the shopping bag gently sways, his confident stride, matched by his tilt of his lips, curving upward in a smirk as he lowers his gaze upon his cell. 

[ text: bro ] Ah, drat, one more fucking day, Hannibal. I have to stay one fucking extra day.

[ text: dear brother ] I thought you were coming back Friday night. Why the unexpected delay?

[ text: bro ] Fuck them clients, a holdup in Netherlands. A big fucking huge snowstorm.

A mischievous smirk widening as he holds up his passport and flight ticket, even his picture has his characteristic smirk, almost imperceptible, but still evidently visible if anyone knew Nigel with their heart. 

The ride from Baltimore-Washington Int’ Airport to their house takes a breeze with his remarkably deft maneuver with his daredevil spirit, whizzing through the traffic with zigzagging movements as the streetlights blur into golden brushstrokes. 

Wanting to surprise Hannibal as he parks the bike away from his usual entrance through the back door by the kitchen, not wanting his brother, who is an exceptionally light sleeper and if his twin ever inhaled a trace of him inside the house, the lingering cigarette from earlier at the airport and all the other amalgamating scent, he would have to take an extra precaution. 

With the shopping bag swung over his shoulders, he carefully slides in through the narrow opening of the sliding glass door by the kitchen and steps out of his oxfords before they make too much unneeded noise. The wine bottles set over on the counter top, he pads through the living room to find Hannibal slumbering on the lounge, with their duvet cocooned against the broad form with a wine bottle tugged between the curled up form. Knees pushed to his chest, head tipped to the side with dark bangs draped over the closed lids. 

Painstakingly deliberate as he situates between the small puddle of space left by the curve of Hannibal’s abdomen, he leans over and brushes off few locks encasing his twin’s sharp cheekbone. Fucking grape juice. He must be out of it or Hannibal would already be awake. Still dressed in his dress shirt and tie loose against the collar, Nigel scoops up his brother’s form and swings his leg over, so he’s the one who is leaning against the backrest with Hannibal’s head on his chest. The cold still lingers against the well-worn calfskin as he tugs the jacket off, covering it over the duvet as an arm winds around Hannibal’s neck. 

Taking out his half-full flask and taking a long sip, his fingers continue to caress his brother’s head, feeling the slow and steady rise and fall of the other’s chest against his own as lips stretch into a lazy grin, closing his eyes as he tips his head back, relishing the subtle burn of the alcohol and the warmth it creates, along with the insulating warmth that radiates from his brother.


	113. The Gorgeous Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lecter Twins in Berlin Weimar.

Berlin, the libertine city of the Weimar era, there stands Nigel. Dressed to kill, ready to bring down the house with the hearty and thunderous ovation with Hannibal, my partner in performance, the only performer on the small, curved stage who only is ‘good’ enough to tame the beast in him. With pointy pitch-black eyeliner and shadows painted over the lids, sharp lines curve upward and accentuates his intense hazel, sultry and glinting as ever with his honeyed gaze. His face pressed with white powder, an emphasis along those chiseled cheekbones, making them more pronounced. Crimson lips, stark as they stand out from his porcelain and flawlessly angular face.  _ Damn, he does look fucking devilishly stunning and brutally handsome in paint. _ Nigel loves to be au naturel as well, but whenever he’s dolled up under flamboyant pigments and take on the stage persona, then he becomes the most sought-after temptress with a super-voluptuous flame burning through his spine, unquenchable until his body paints with hot pearly white from both Hannibal and his. Donning black and lush mink shawl with form-fitting and streamlined blazer of the same color, which gives an emphasis on his narrow waist and hips, his flushed and already erect length radiates heat and twitches under the silk panties as the stilettos click against the floor in long strides.

 

To Hannibal’s and the audience’s surprise, Nigel is adamant on having his own dressing room, keeping his particular outfit for the night in secret. Hannibal wants to relish his twin’s nakedness and the genuine emotion oozing out of him, savoring him before anyone else in the audience does and before the flesh hides under all things that define his twin. Carefully chosen garments that always accentuate his androgynous figure. Not an exhibitionist at heart, but Nigel’s energy is as contagious as metastasizing cancer cells, relentless and ruthless when it comes to ravaging the body. Being the most   _Breslauers_ in demand and more sought after than any other _androgynes_ , the only thing Hannibal had insisted his younger twin to not do is to cloud his natural scent with heavy use of perfume. At least when he had been performing with himself. Hannibal could still make a faint scent of it though, knowing that Nigel had been working few of the _kitty-receivers_ before their grand closure to the midnight performance. 

 

Standing outside the back door where Nigel would circle around the spectators and some of his most exclusive suitors,  _ oh yes, he doesn’t fucking take all and any low paying assholes like those fucking whores _ . He is well aware that hs is indeed the one ‘seductive temptress’ that everyone covets and he sweeps off their feet whenever he and Hannibal close the performance. All the others are mere leading up to the grand finale. Gartered up as the suspenders hold onto the stockings, with the hairs on his long, slender and muscled legs effectively hidden with the close-weaved netting, he paces himself slowly as narrow hips swagger, a knowing yet imperceptible smirk adorning his lips as he does the walk and take in all the lascivious and desiring gaze of the suitors. The music flows around him like the most luscious body lotion grazing across his flawless skin.

 

As the velvety crimson curtain draws open, Hannibal is already on the stage, also with devouring and all-consuming gaze only directed for his younger twin. The rest of the house light dims and some focal lights illuminate the small curved stage, where Hannibal sits on a comfy stool, donning a black corset which creates a stark and sensuous curve along lean waist while the top part accentuates Hannibal’s broader shoulders. A cravat around his taut neck muscles, sculpted collarbones smeared with glittering substance and makes them pop out. Even from the distance, Nigel can make out those glitters falling, sweeping his twin’s muscles as his own eyes follow the swirling curve of the confetti-shaped golds and silvers. Donning thigh-high boots and nothing underneath it, his erection already greets Nigel with a subtle twitch, brushing against the laced corset as Nigel makes out an unmistakable glist along the shaft as Hannibal’s hips shift above the bar stool. The sparking maroon and hazel meet up in mid-air as  thousands of bolts of raw current traversing up in the air, Nigel’s steps become a stride to a saunter, drastically slowing down as pointed heels drag and brush against his calf as he gives few lewd glances over the shoulder across the floor. 

 

Nigel’s smooth jaw tickles against the feathery mink, so lush and bouncy under his skin. The audience’s jaws already dropped, seeing the flushed and smooth head peeking out above the thin waistband of the silk panties and Hannibal’s swollen and fat length, so eager for my heat to swallow and suck it whole. Hannibal’s legs part as a hand languidly strokes his erection, a lewd noise intensifying as more slick coats the fingertips, the fleshy tube stretching over the smooth crown. 

 

Hannibal’s voice, sweeter than honey, drips into Nigel’s ear as he stands mere feet away from his partner in performance. A subtle inhale confirms Hannibal’’s imminent arousal, the heavy musk and the scent of perfume clinging on Nigel’s skin and costumes. Their scantily, but tastefully clad bodies barely coming to contact. “ _ Willkommen zu Hause, wunderschön _ ,” Hannibal says, in his typical baritone and accented voice. Instead of answering, Nigel’s fingers clasp around the string that holds the mink shawl over his shoulders. Painfully slow as Nigel feel myriads of eyes against his hand, more particularly, on his fingertip as the string moves in an unhurried pace, through the whole process of removing the garment and tossing it on Hannibal’s lap. Underneath the lush mink, a choker appears and the hain pressing just under Nigel’s adam’s apple feels especially cool against the heated skin, like coals burning gray with retaining heat.

 

With sinister and a bit raucous music playing in the background in a rather ominous manner, the musical tones become a mere white noise as Nigel’s hand roughly tugs the cravat around Hannibal’s neck. Feeling his hips shift as his erection twitches in anticipation. Hannibal’s chin tips backward, a genuine groan tauts his neck, feeling the surge of pulse against his jugular. Then, Nigel pulls out a flower petal, pressed against the garters, secured by the netting. It is laced with coke, soaked in his own mix of pure angel dust, all done to escalate the intense sensation as they succumb to debauchery of carnal desire. Predators becoming prey as their bodies and senses mingle.

 

Another one slides off and Nigel stretches the stockings, preventing the petal from dropping off to the floor. The underside of the tongue pressing against the crystals, the sour note permeates his mouth as he flings the tip of the tongue, bringing the petal to stick to it. A hand reaching for Hannibal’s immaculately gelled and parted hair, mussing it up as Nigel tilt his twin’s chin, locking crimson to crimson as skins press, smearing colors over as the drug laden petal transfers into Hannibal’s lips. A tingling jolt sparks both of their nerves alive as Nigel tantalizingly press a knee to Hannibal’s erection, feeling the heated arousal spill and wet a spot on the stocking.

 

Fingers tightening around the silk cravat as Nigel feels Hannibal’s carotid artery squeeze, he uses the flat of the heel to leverage to use more force, stiletto pressing against the seated twin’s inner thigh as the pointed tip presses against the plush leather cushion. The mink shawl and blazer underneath already tossed and sliding off to fall on the floor, Nigel’s bare torso feels warm against the cool whip of the air that sweeps across, like the roused sound coming from the audience, but they merely become the backdrop and blurs as he concentrates all of his attention to Hannibal’s breathing, strained, his adam’s apple bobbing as the fabric digs into the skin. A strained gasp as maroon orbs roll backwards as Hannibal relinquishes all the resist, arms falling from between his legs, back arching in a bow, barely keeping his posture in check with Nigel’s firm hold against the silk. “Harder.” Hannibal urges, a gentle tremor carrying through him as his poised cock continues to weep and sting. 

 

Then Nigel feels Hannibal’s hand slide into his panties, the twin’s half-mast orbs and along with the sound of the audience becomes something like a low frequency, drumming with gentle percussion against Hannibal’s eardrums as it fades from his attention. Hannibal’s hitched breaths sounding even more flowing music to Nigel’s ears, he feels his lover’s burning hands sear his skin as panties rip away from the hips and as he slowly lowers himself in serpentine movement onto his brother’s lap, the sensitive tip kisses Hannibal’s abdomen. Then, Hannibal’s body limply falls onto his shoulder with a hitching breath. Before his drumming heart falters to beat more strenuously, he feels his younger twin’s resistance easily break, the tight coil grabbing his length in a death grip. In petrified paroxysm, Nigel’s cock repeatedly kisses against the corseted surface and he groans out aloud, reveling their sweat-drenched bodies slap. 

 

Nigel’s husky voice drawl as gasping sound soon reduces into a whisper. “ _ Halt mich, brennen mich ganz, von innen nach außen. _ ” And he expects this is exactly what will happen, Hannibal burning him from inside out, if he hadn’t done it already with the penetration that knocks the air out of him. With the fabric’s weave tearing the signal, Hannibal is on verge of slipping to the other side and that is exactly when Nigel lets go of the cravat, unwinding it from the twin’s neck and impale himself deeper on Hannibal’s weeping cock, lewd sight greeting him as precum pools between his legs, velvety sacs already turned color as Nigel’s strong arms prop against the counter just behind his unconscious lover. With the backward drop of his chin, Hannibal’s chest sticks out, straining to rise under the constricting fabric. Just as Nigel feels the wet tip graze the sweet spot, always perfectly and in one single sweep as his tight walls continue to coil and flutter around the thick length, he pulls the string that tightens the corset and immediately, Hannibal’s chest fluff comes to life as beaks of the ducklings trying to break its shell, ready to take their first view into the world.

 

It is dangerous time they live in, the world ravaged with World War, the country on the brink of collapsing and life had been difficult for the twins. Letting the corruption take over and being wild and living in debauchery and promiscuous world is the most carnal and raw form which people can clutch onto. They let themselves immerse in that world, so does all the other people in the audience do. What would be considered taboo and blasphemy in the other parts of the world becomes the normalcy as the life of living as ‘the gorgeous twins,’ becomes the most spectacular fifteen minutes of hour-long performance. Hannibal’s heavy lids strain to lift as a bit of tear adheres his thick dark lashes and as soon as his chest is able to expand and glide against Nigel’s, his hand is quick to hold onto those jutting hipbones, taking a deep inhale to savor Nigel in whole, an amalgamation of all those that define his twin. Whiskey, cigarettes, sour note of lingering coke, band of sweat around his neck and increasingly intoxicating heavy musk that continues to smear across his abdomen. 

 

No matter how many times Nigel fucks himself on Hannibal’s cock, as the throbbing length breaches my tight resistance, a paralyzing paroxysm sweeps my body, as if a Medusa’s gaze had me petrified. All of my nerves spark and burn as Hannibal’s corset finally drops on the ground to join my costumes. Limbs as well as each exchange of breath tangled to conjoin in oneness, with the audience repressed deep into the oblivion as the only two people, in a whirlwind of love, from consuming and exploring lips to hands grazing over the sweat covered skin, onto the tight lock, muscles rippling like waves as heels drag across the hardwood floor. Overwhelming and heavy musk soon assaults my nostrils as our orgasms successively knock my breaths out. Panting and puffing as my tip continues to kiss and paint ropes of pearly white all over our chest and my fluttering rim makes the most lewdest sound as Hannibal’s essence spills between my legs. Hand reaches behind my firm globes, Hannibal’s, gently groping and smearing the dense beads over and feels the unquenchable heat that still emits from my inside.

 

Breslauers  = men with big cock

androgynes = androgynous male 

kitty-receivers = men who bottoms 


End file.
